


Colours

by magicalcookie664



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Asexual Logic | Logan Sanders, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Death, High School, Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Mental Health Issues, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders-centric, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 06:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30101520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalcookie664/pseuds/magicalcookie664
Summary: Patton saw the world in colours.Both beautiful and utterly terrible.Human au of sorts.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Colours

**Author's Note:**

> ⚠️TW: Please heed the tags and do not read if any of them could trigger you. I do not want to cause anyone harm. 
> 
> I started writing this fic for someone nearly a year ago because they made me cry with their fic and I wanted to do something similar.  
> I gave up on this multiple times and the first 5,000 or so words may be a different style compared to the rest as they were written so long ago. 
> 
> I also want to note that I am not American so I have written this with the UK school system and grades that I have experienced. 
> 
> I am not trying to romanticise any of the topics in this as they are serious and not a subject to take lightly. 
> 
> Enjoy I guess. :)

Patton Sanders sees the world in colours. He spent the first few years of his life exploring the seemingly endless expanse of his slither of said world. Everything was bright and exciting and wonderful. 

Patton is only 6 years old but he sees everything in rainbows. His mum absolutely adores him; it's evident in the way she talks to him, in the way she acts.

They go to the park hidden behind their estate after school almost every day. No one ever goes there so they often have the place to themselves. Patton's favourite part of the park are the swings. When swinging he feels as if he's flying, soaring up into the blue sky, weightless if only for a moment.

His mum's smiling at him as he giggles, kicking the floor hard enough to scuff his shoes as he tries to make the swing go just that little bit higher. He wants to reach up and touch the sky, sift his hands through the rainbow stretched out among the clouds.

He's laughing properly now, his mum beaming at him from where she resides on the bench a few meters away. She snaps photos of him to add to their family scrapbook when they return home.

"Mummy look how high I am!" Patton exclaims, swinging his legs back and forth as his swing soars.

His mum laughs. "Why, you're practically in space!" She replies, mocking surprise.

Patton nods enthusiastically. "I can nearly touch space, mummy!" He announces, proceeding to stretch his arm out as high as he can - which, poor thing, isn't that high - and making grabby hands at the sky. “Can you push?” Patton asks, flashing his adorable begging face at his mum.

She sighs, pretending to think about it before staring at him intently as if his expression has the potential to change her mind. (In a way, it does.) She stands up, leaving her camera on the bench behind her. “Well alright then, Pat,” she decides, walking over to the swings.

“Yay!” Patton exclaims, turning his head to watch her as she positions herself behind the swing.

She begins to push him, gently at first but slowly growing harder and harder as Patton giggles and squeals.

“Higher mummy higher!” He begs and she pushes the swing again and again for her son until the sun begins to set.

When it’s merely a line of orange-pink along the horizon she stops the swing, her arms tired from all the pushing. “Time to go home, Pat,” she says, moving to collect the camera from the bench.

“Okay!” Patton says, jumping from the swing and on to the grass. His feet hit the dirt with a thud and he almost tips back and falls on to the ground, but manages to steady himself. “Are we gonna have pizza?” He asks innocently.

His mum smiles at him, nods and takes his hand. “Yes,” she tells him before leading him back to the car.

His favourite food is pizza. He isn’t allowed it every day like he wants to, but at least once a week which is the next best thing.

When they return home he sits at the table with his parents and eats dinner, explaining to his dad in animated tones what he’s done at school today. “We painted cardboard boxes, daddy!” He exclaims, his mouth full of pizza,”Mine is a rainbow!”

His dad smiles at him. “That’s wonderful, Pat,” he tells him,”I’d love to see it,”

“Not finished yet,” Patton mumbles, “We also did numbers but they are booooooring~” he announces, ending it with a cute little giggle.

“I agree with you on that one, Patty,” His mum tells him,”Numbers are pretty boring but they’re important, just like your daddy,” She means it as a joke and Patton giggles but his father sends her a look, his brow furrowed in what could be either anger or confusion.

-

Patton is 10 years old when his parents divorce.

He’s sat in the middle of the floor in the living room, colouring books and crayons surrounding him. The TV is on, playing some of his mum’s favourite songs, which in turn make them his favourite songs. He’s busy colouring in the face of his favourite cartoon character, humming along to the tune of Bad Romance by Lady Gaga.

His parents are arguing in the hallway outside. He can hear the sounds of a bag or suitcase of some sort being zipped up. His mother’s voice gets louder but he blocks out what she’s saying.

He sets down his blue crayon and picks up a red one. He shades in the character's eyes with the red colour, his colouring growing more and more frantic until he rips a hole in the paper.

His mum screams something at his father and the front door opens and closes with a slam. He can hear the roar of an engine as his dad’s car is started outside.

He pauses, breathing heavily, staring down in shock at the mess of angry red scribbles covering his colouring book. He rips the page out and crumples it into a ball in his hands before throwing it at the TV. Picking up the blue crayon again, he begins drawing the sky behind the next page in his colouring book.

He can hear his mum sobbing in the adjoining room. He knows what to do. He’ll colour in something for her and maybe she’ll feel better.

When he finishes the colouring he tears it out of the colouring book and stands up, the paper safely secured in his hand. He walks over to the door and slips out of the room, feeling a little unsure.

His mum is sat at the desk in his father’s study. She’s crying into her hands and Patton notices that she’s not wearing her wedding ring. She always wears that. Maybe she lost it.

“Mum?” He begins, tapping her on the shoulder,”I made this for you,” he presents the colouring to her.

She looks up, eyes red from crying and a weak smile finds its way on to her face. She takes the colouring from him. “Thank you, Pat,” she says and leans in to give him a hug.

Patton returns the hug happily, enjoying the physical contact. “Why are you sad, mum?” He asks, drawing back from the hug after a moment.

“Your father isn’t going to be living with us anymore,” She says, wiping her eyes quickly after setting the colouring down on the desk in front of her.

Patton frowns, a little confused. He stares at his feet awkwardly. “Is he getting a new house?” He questions.

His mum nods. "Yeah, something like that.." she mumbles, her eyes slightly glazed.

Patton’s face lights up. “Can I visit it? Is is gonna be a big house with a swimming pool?” He exclaims, clearly excited.

His mum sighs. “No, Pat. You’re not to talk about him again,” she says, a little tersely. She stands up and moves to leave the room. “I’m going to go have a drink, you be a good boy and colour in the living room, okay?” She says, a flimsy smile on her face.

Patton nods. “I’ll draw us a rainbow house!” He exclaims before running back into the living room.

His mum’s smile drops. She makes her way into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.

-

Patton wakes up to his alarm on his first day of high school. He sits up in bed, yawning. One of his many sketchbooks rests open at the bottom of his bed, a few of the pages a little bent. He was drawing late into the night last night and fell asleep halfway through. He picks up the sketchbook and folds out the pages before standing up to get ready for school.

When he heads downstairs to find something for breakfast he catches sight of the drunk form of his mother passed out on the living room couch. He sighs and heads to the kitchen. He isn’t feeling hungry but he picks up a piece of bread and begins eating it slowly as he grabs his coat and puts his shoes on.

He doesn’t like the school uniform. It consists of grey trousers, a grey shirt and a black blazer that feels scratchy against his skin. The only part he likes is the tie. It’s light blue with white stripes. It makes him think of the sky.

He heads out of the house with his school bag on his shoulders and a half eaten slice of bread in his hands.

He takes the bus to school and stares out of the window as the cars pass by outside. He leans closer to the glass and breathes on it, grinning when the condensation his breath leaves creates the perfect canvas. He draws a smiley face into the fog with his finger, then moves to draw a more detailed frog. Well, as detailed as a drawing done with his finger on the window of bus can be. He's excited, if a little nervous. He's been sent to a totally new school, separated from his old friends in primary, Remy and Thomas. He's always been an affectionate and positive child, easily ready to welcome new friends into his group. He wonders what new friends he'll make.

Upon arriving at school he's gifted with a map of the building and told where his locker is. It's a large metal thing with cracking dark blue paint, residing in the corner of the large locker room in his year centre.

He makes his way through the crowds of year 7's to reach his locker. He opens it and deposits his belongings inside, making sure to check his lesson schedule before taking out the books needed along with a pencil case and a sketchbook. He sets off towards his first lesson: maths.

As soon as he enters the classroom full of over energetic pre-teens minus a teacher he finds any ounce of confidence spill out of him, fading into the air surrounding him as if it were never there in the first place. His eyes drop downwards and a spike of anxiety hits him. He doesn't know these people. He bites his lip, nervously fiddling with the edge of his sketchbook. His breathing is suddenly a little erratic.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and a voice he's never heard before says,"Uh.. are you okay?"

He looks up quickly, eyes meeting those of a boy the same age as him who's wearing a dark purple hoodie that looks far too big for him. "Oh, hi!" He exclaims, rather too cheerily. It doesn't matter. "I'm okay," he replies, grinning widely,"Um.. how are you?" He asks, a little awkwardly.

The boy raises an eyebrow at his flippant use of the statement 'I'm okay' but seemingly dismisses it. "I'm okay too, I guess," he responds, looking away nervously,"I'm uh.. Virgil," he mumbles, trailing off a little as he divulges the information.

"Oooo, that's such a cool name! I'm Patton!" Patton responds excitedly, shifting his books on to one arm so he can extend his hand out to Virgil.

Virgil shakes it, albeit a little hesitantly. "We should probably sit down," he states, gesturing to the only free seats remaining in the room: two at the back beside a small table. He begins to head for said table.

Patton nods and falls into step beside him, already feeling overjoyed about making a friend in the first class. He sits down next to Virgil and places his books on the desk. The teacher still isn't here so he takes out his sketchbook and a pencil and begins sketching. Without realising it he's begun drawing his new friend, Virgil. He's just working on his long purple bangs when he catches sight of Virgil staring at him in his peripheral vision. He blushes, dropping his pencil.

"Are you drawing me?" Virgil asks, a confused expression clouding his face.

Patton nods, looking to the side awkwardly. "Yeah.. is that a weird thing to do when you've just met someone?" He asks.

"Everything is weird if you overthink it," Is Virgil's unexpected response.

Patton looks over at him at that, a fascinated look flashing across his face. "I.. didn't expect that.." he says, laughing slightly.

Virgil raises an eyebrow. "What did you expect?" He questions.

Patton shrugs. "I guess... for you to tell me I'm weird and that you don't want to be friends with me..?" He manages, chuckling a little nervously.

Virgil rolls his eyes. "That would be hypocritical of me, considering I'm the biggest weirdo you get. You're kinda.. the first friend I've ever had so I'm not gonna chase you away just cause you drew a picture of me," he responds.

Patton chuckles again, more genuine this time. "That's a relief," he says.

At this point the teacher - a tall woman with the smallest glasses imaginable - walks in and the class begins.

~

Patton meets Roman not long after. He and Virgil are chilling beside the staircase hidden up behind one of the smaller locker collections, sat side by side on the window ledge, talking about the movie The Beauty and the Beast.

Virgil is just right in the middle of explaining to Patton that it's 'obviously Stockholm syndrome' when another boy they've only seen once or twice around school before royally buts into their conversation.

"I'm sorry but are you badmouthing Disney, because that I cannot stand for!" He exclaims, eyeing up Virgil in a distrustful way.

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Who exactly are you?" He responds, shooting him a glare that screams 'go away'.

The boy makes an offended sound. "I am Roman King," he announces in a formal tone,"I'd like to ask you the same question,"

"Is your last name really 'King'?" Virgil sneers.

"Virgil, be nice," Patton interjects, giving him a disapproving look.

Roman turns to Patton as if only now remembering he exists. "Hi," he greets in a significantly more kind tone.

Patton grins. "Hi! I'm Patton!" He exclaims, flinging his arm out to Roman.

Roman shakes it vigorously. "Roman," he replies.

Virgil rolls his eyes. "... Hi.. my name's Virgil.." he mumbles in a monotone voice. He sounds noticeably less enthusiastic about the situation.

Roman turns to him, a little surprised.

"Does that make us friends now or..?" Patton begins, trailing off, unsure what to add.

Roman nods,"Sure!" He exclaims,"I have to go to Drama club now, see you around," he announces before continuing on through the corridor, humming a recognisable song.

Patton and Virgil both turn to look at each other at the exactly same time. Virgil is frowning and Patton is grinning.

"You... enjoyed that?" Virgil asks incredulously.

Patton nods,"Of course! I love making new friends," he responds honestly. He pauses, then asks in a quieter voice,"Do you.. not?"

Virgil shrugs, drawing his legs into his chest before resting his head on his knees. "I dunno... it's kinda stressful. I don't know whether I trust people enough to be allowing new ones into my life like this,"

Patton frowns, unsure what to say. "Why.. don't you trust them?" He tries, moving into a cross-legged sitting position.

Virgil merely sighs. "Just don't," he responds bluntly, moving to turn his head away from Patton,"Can we leave it at that?"

Patton nods, responding with a slightly concerned 'okay'.

~

The first time he's invited to a party is halfway through year 8. Neither Virgil's family nor Patton's do birthday parties anymore so it's a wonderful if slightly nostalgic feeling for Patton when he walks through the double doors into the large building the party is at. Roman invited Virgil and him, though the party is technically a joint one shared between Roman and his twin brother, Remus.

Now Remus, Remus is the exact opposite of Roman. Where Roman is polite and kind (whether Virgil decides to admit that or not) his brother is vulgar and blunt. If the truth needs to be twisted for Roman to save someone's feelings from being hurt, he'll twist it. Whereas Remus, he never ever lies. Every revolting thing coming from his mouth is always the truth in some way or another. It's strange, Patton thinks, how two people can have shared the exact same childhood, grown up in the exact same atmosphere and ended up so drastically different. It makes him wonder what went wrong or.. what went right.

Originally, Virgil had been utterly averse to going to the party. Patton, being his close friend, knows Virgil suffers from copious amounts of anxiety especially surrounding people and social situations. He's sure without Roman's constant begging that Virgil would've just stayed home. But he caved and now here the two of them are, standing just inside the entrance of the large building.

There's a small 'bar' on the left, consisting of a few metal tables laden with snacks and every fizzy drink imaginable (plus a few alcoholic drinks Remus managed to smuggle in despite all of them being very much underage.) Further back in the room, past the clumps of mingling people resides a rainbow dance floor, surrounded by speakers and an array of lights. So it's that kind of party.

Virgil immediately shrinks into Patton's side, tugging up the hood of his hoodie to cover his face a little. "I wanna go home.." he mumbles and the fear seeping through his words is obvious.

Patton reaches out and gives Virgil's hand a comforting squeeze. "It's okay, Virge," he says, moving to lead Virgil around the groups of loud people to a line of couches in the back left corner of the room.

They sit down beside each other, feeling nervous about the entire situation.

"What do people do at parties..?" Virgil questions,"I've never been to one before,"

"They're supposed to be fun!" Patton responds, grinning,"I used to have parties like this... before.." he trails off, remembering his parents' screaming matches, the sound crockery made as it was thrown against a wall. Red bleeds into his vision, pools behind his eyelids.

Virgil turns and looks at him, a curious expression on his face. "Before.. what?" He asks, a little unsure whether he should be breaching this topic.

"Before dad left," He answers, voice considerably quieter.

Virgil looks away,"My mum left me too," he replies,"I know it doesn't help but .. she did. My dad... doesn't love me," He mumbles.

"Sometimes I feel like my mum doesn't love me either, but she does, I- I know she does," Patton replies with a lot more confidence than he actually feels. Thinking about it, he can't remember the last time his mother told him she loved him. Hell, he can't remember the last time he held a decent conversation with her, rest short one sided ones she never remembered the next day. Does his mum love him anymore? He doesn't know the answer to that.

Roman finds them a few minutes later and ropes them into a group of people they've never seen before. He introduces them to his brother Remus who immediately challenges Patton to a contest of who can eat the most mini sausages. Patton being Patton, excepts.

When Patton finds Virgil curled up in the bathroom later on in the party, his eyeshadow smeared down his face in black lines, he feels guilty. He helps Virge out of the cramped room and promises to accompany him home. He doesn't miss the fact that Virgil seems even more scared about going home than he is staying at the party. He dismisses it, chalking it down to anything but what he's worried it is.

He drops Virgil off home after accompanying him on the bus and takes the short journey back to his own home. His mum isn't home, probably off getting drunk somewhere again. So Patton makes himself some toast and eats it in front of the TV, ignoring the odd hollowness he feels as he sits alone in a vacant house.

~

He's in year 9 now and work at school is beginning to get a little more difficult. He's not the smartest of kids and it's beginning to show. His level 7's are dropping to 5's and 4's and sometimes even 3's. He doesn't know what to do to get better. Sure, he tries to study, to go over and over the work he's been set but it seems no matter how hard he tries to understand it ... he just can't. He has trouble focusing on the real world, on the numbers, on the facts, on anything. He's the worst at maths. Every question results in only a correct or incorrect answer and he is always always incorrect. It probably doesn't help that he gets bored in the lesson often and ends up drawing in the back of his book.

He has the window seat in his English class. It's his favourite class because he gets to sit next to Logan - a 'cute nerd', as Patton calls him in his own head - who never gets any grade less than an 8 or 9 and 9 is literally the highest grade. Patton admires Logan for this.

He's often tried to strike up a conversation with said cute nerd but unfortunately Logan doesn't seem to have much interest in making friends with Patton or anyone else for that matter.

It took a lot of trying and failing for Patton to get a somewhat positive response from Logan.

“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Patton asks, turning to glance at Logan sat ramrod straight beside him.

“Yes,” Logan responds. He doesn’t elaborate, keeping his eyes on their English teacher at the front of the room.

Patton gets the impression Logan doesn’t like him. With the snappish responses and zero eye contact it leaves him feeling as if he’s been left hanging in every simple interaction. Then again, Virgil acts similarly and has expressed multiple times his care for Patton. Perhaps he’s just looking too much into it and jumping to conclusions. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Patton twiddles his pen between his fingers nervously, unsure how to progress. “Can you.. help me?” He asks quietly, gesturing to the set of questions on the open textbook in front of them.

Logan lets out a sigh but turns to face Patton, an unreadable expression on his face. “I suppose,” he responds, flipping through to the back of his book. He begins writing something, scrawling furiously for a few lines before stopping. “Okay,” he says, pointing at the lines of writing in his book,”Read these in your head,”

Patton does so, trying his best to focus on the content of the writing and not Logan’s fascinating handwriting. It’s a few random sentences comprised of verbs and nouns. He finishes reading and looks up. “Done,” he announces with more enthusiasm.

Logan proceeds to explain how the word ‘crunch’ in the sentence is an example of onomatopoeia and how using a technique like this adds to the writing. 

Patton listens intently, finding paying attention to Logan’s voice a thousand times easier than the teacher’s.

When Logan finishes Patton gives him a wide smile and thanks him with slightly flushed cheeks. “Oo, I’m Patton by the way!” Patton tells him.

Logan gives him an odd look. “I know. I have a list of all of the names of the students in our year in my house. I print updated ones out when new people join,” he responds.

Patton blinks at him, a little shocked. “Oh.. why do you do that?” He asks, trying to keep his tone relatively light.

Logan seems to think for a moment before giving a small shrug. “It’s just helpful to know people’s names. I don’t actually want to talk to the people, though,”

Patton smiles slightly. “But you’re talking to me,” he responds, grin growing.

Logan pauses again, then sighs. “You’re right,” he replies,”It’s not as problematic as I had anticipated. You are a decent person, Patton,”

Patton doesn’t know what to say to that. He finds himself nodding quickly, a blush taking residence on his face.

After that the teacher announces the lesson’s end and both Patton and Logan exit together, Pat talking excitedly about some YouTube video he’d seen the previous day and Logan nodding along, expression free of irritation.

The two become friends after that, Patton then introducing Logan to Virgil and Roman. They become a sort of group, the four of them. They always sit together at lunch, always study together during break (though Logan was doing most of the studying.)

Roman always invites them over to his house. His parents are kind and accepting, though they quickly learn to stay away from Remus when he has his friends around. They sometimes go to Logan’s well organised abode, enjoying polite conversation with his heavily conservative parents. Patton’s mum is never home when they stay over at his and they’re never invited to Virgil’s.

Things are actually going okay and Patton feels good. Ignoring the absence of his only parent, the loneliness clawing at him every night, he’s doing good.

~

Then _it_ happens.

Patton arrives home after a long gruelling day of school work. He opens the door to his house, sending out a halfhearted call of ‘I’m back, mum’ (she never answers anyway) before chucking his bag beside the coats and moving to take his shoes off. He wonders if mum is out again at the bar or if she’s actually going to be here to provide some sort of comfort (usually consisting of lying in the living room drinking alcohol or being unconscious.) He’s always worried they’re going to get robbed when she’s not home - not that she’d be able to stop a robbery in the state she’s usually in.

He moves to the living room, glancing inside quickly and turning around again when he finds it empty. Oh well. He heads up the stairs to his bedroom to get changed out of his school uniform. Once changed he goes to the bathroom to take a shower. He hasn’t had one in a week and decides one is definitely overdue.

The door won’t open. He juggles the doorknob a few times before realising it’s locked. Someone must be in there - mum probably. He stands outside, leaning on the wall as he waits awkwardly for her to finish.

Five minutes pass and the door still doesn’t open. He can’t hear anything coming from inside, no breathing, no scuffling, no sign of it being occupied.

He sighs, moving to knock on the door. “Mum?” He calls, finding his voice beginning to shake,”You in there?”

Silence. Just silence.

He tries not to panic. Maybe she passed out or something and he’ll have to help her up. She’s fine.

He waits a few more minutes before he kicks at the door, rams his shoulder into it, rinse and repeat until the wood cracks, splinters into long sharp spikes and the door gives way. He looks inside.

Blood dots the white carpet, crimson liquid staining the floor, the mats, the side of the bathtub. His mother’s grey body rests inside red water, her eyes turned to the ceiling, staring straight up. A kitchen knife rests on the carpet beside the tub, glinting with bright colour.

Patton stares at her, his mouth open wide though no sound tries to escape. He feels as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s trembling, entire body shaking as he faces the sight within the room.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to move, but when he does he slides his phone out of his pocket and dials 999, clasping it against his ear with cold trembling fingers.

When they ask what service he requires he stutters out a choked ‘ambulance’ and proceeds to explain the situation as best he can.

He didn’t realise he was crying until the lady on the other end tells him to take a breath- take a breath Patton, calm down.

He wipes at his eyes feebly as the operator informs him to stay on the phone until the paramedics arrive. He doesn’t understand what she means but he mumbles out a ‘yes’. He doesn’t understand.

“What’s your name?” Phone operator lady asks. She says it like it’s something she says every day. It probably is.

“P-Patton Sanders..” he stutters, a sob escaping him.

“Okay, Patton. How old are you?” She asks, voice so calm and collected. How can someone be so calm and collected? His mum is dead.

“Th-thirteen.. my mum’s dead,” Patton sobs out, the words running into each other,”My mum’s dead,” he cries, burying his face in his knees. He slid to the floor as soon as he made the call.

He’s pretty sure she says something after that but he can’t for the life of him recall it. His head is full of static, fuzzy, buzzing multicoloured static. The sound fills his ears, blocks out anything else.His vision swims with red, the colour painted behind his eyelids.

The phone is on the floor. He glances down at it, feeling sick. How did it get there? He doesn’t remember dropping it, but he can no longer feel it cradled in his hand.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, crouched on the floor of their only bathroom, staring at the phone at his feet.

When people arrive they do in a haze. He doesn’t catch their faces or names despite how hard he tries. They’re shapes trembling within his blurry field of vision. Or maybe it’s him that’s trembling. It doesn’t seem to matter. The world around him appears to vibrate the way hot air does. He curls into himself, head dropping to his knees. It should hurt, he thinks, but he feels nothing.

The few days after the incident feel detached from Patton’s real life, like some strange spin off he shouldn’t be a part of. His vision swarms with red. He registers people talking but not what they’re saying.

Hands touch his shoulder, his arm. He shudders away from each sickening flicker of stranger’s pity.

Luckily for him, they say, his aunt and uncle are able to take him to their house.

Patton doesn’t agree. He’s only been to their house a few times, back when dad was still around. The thought brings a rush of memories back, snapshots of a life that belonged to a version of him long dead. He can’t imagine ever calling the spacious building lined with too thick rugs and dainty lamps his home.

“I don’t like it there,” he mumbles. He might be addressing the woman in front of him or he might not be, he isn’t really sure himself. It just seems like the right thing to say. He doesn’t like it there, never has.

Unknown woman sighs, a sympathetic look plastered upon her face, one people fling up when they know very well they have no business pretending to understand something they have never experienced but are deciding to do that anyway. It makes Patton angry and he’s not used to feeling angry.

“I’m sorry hunny,” she replies, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Why do people keep doing that? Do they think it will help?

Patton frowns, eyes dropping to his hands. What’s she sorry for? She didn’t kill his mum. His mum killed his mum.

_Oh_. That really happened, didn’t it?

It doesn’t seem real. How can she really be dead, by her own hand even? Gosh, and it really was her own hand wasn’t it? Who else could’ve held the blade to her skin alone in the bathtub but her?

He screws his eyes shut, hating the woman in front of him for no reason other than having no one else to force the feelings onto. He curls into a ball, legs bent and pressed into his chest.

Unknown woman sits down beside him, speaks to him in soft tones, senseless words that mean absolutely nothing. Her hand returns to his shoulder and he winces.

He doesn’t listen to her, turns his head away and rests it on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers.

Patton starts to cry.

~

The journey to his aunt and uncle’s house is a long and silent one, the kind of silence that weighs a ton, crushes each wisp of oxygen out of the air. Patton sits curled up in the backseat, facing the window with his headphones in. He listens to Push by Fog Lake, his favourite of their songs. The lyrics feel blue and faded to him.

“There’s a room set up for you, Patty,” Aunt says, her tone devoid of any feeling at all.

“Okay,” Patton mumbles, barely caring. The view sliding by outside is a far more interesting subject to focus on.

She sighs in frustration. “Aren’t you going to say thank you? It took a lot of our time to set it up for you. You’re very lucky we’re able to have you, you know?” She continues.

“Thank you..” Patton replies quietly. He feels selfish.

The remainder of the trip passes in silence except for the sounds of very quiet breathing and the faded hum of music from Patton’s headphones.   


After dinner Patton flops onto a too large bed covered in white sheets and presses his face into the pillow. He doesn’t sleep at all.

~

The first day back to school after the incident is the most difficult. He enters through the paved doorway, bag slung over his shoulder and head down, eyes fixed on his feet. How can he possibly walk back in here and act like nothing happened? His entire life has just been flung off-kilter. He drops his stuff off at his locker and grabs the books required.

He turns around and comes face to face with Roman. He jumps, almost dropping his books. “Oh! Hey Roman!” He exclaims, wincing at how high-pitched his voice sounds.

Roman grins. “Hey!” His voice suddenly drops, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard. “You missed like a week of school, Pat. Everything okay?” He questions, excited expression morphing into one of concern.

Patton pauses, unsure how to respond. How can he possibly explain what has happened? He doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk about it without crying. He plasters on a faux smile, forcing energy into keeping his tone positive. “Yeah, I’m okay!” He exclaims,”We’re gonna be late for Biology,” he changes the subject quickly, turning away to head off to their first lesson.

“If you’re sure, Pat,” Roman answers, falling into step beside him, the concern not completely eradicated from his face.

“I’m sure!” Patton squeaks out in response, clutching his books tighter. The force of his fake smile weighing him down more than his textbooks. He doesn’t say anything to his friend after that and they complete the trek to Biology in silence.

They slide into the classroom just in time and quickly rush to their seats. Patton sits down next to Virgil at the back, opening his books quickly and turning to face the board.

Miss begins drawing some diagrams of plant cells on the whiteboard, labelling each part as she speaks.

Patton keeps his gaze ahead, ignoring the weight of Virgil’s eyes on him. He hopes the other isn’t going to bring up his absence, though it’s likely he will. He doesn’t want the other to worry about hm, especially considering Virgil’s generally anxious nature. Putting extra stress on his friends is one of the last things Patton wants.

He finds with a sinking feeling that he is unable to concentrate. The teacher’s words won’t stay inside his head, they spill out, the important information tumbling into a useless pile on the floor. Something about mitochondria and cell wall.. or is it cell membrane?

Patton lets out a quiet groan, his head sinking into his hands for a moment before he remembers he’s in a lesson. _Suck it up, Patton,_ he snaps internally _, you can’t be doing this here._

He glances to the side and accidentally catches Virgil’s eye.

Virge looks away quickly, fiddling with his hands anxiously. Of course, Patton forgot how much Virgil hates eye contact.

“Sorry, Vee,” Patton whispers, glancing back towards the board to note down the few sentences he missed out.

“It’s fine,” Virgil replies quietly. He appears more relaxed but his fidgeting does not cease. He bites his lip. “Pat?” He questions.

Patton frowns, immediately catching his friend’s mournful tone. “Yeah?” He manages, not sure what else to say. He glances around but people are talking amongst themselves - the teacher must have set work - and not paying them any attention. He lets out a sigh of relief.

Virgil stares at the table. “What happened? You were gone for a week,” he says, concern evident.

_Oh_.

Patton lets out a soft laugh but it feels terribly forced. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Virge. Just got sick for a bit. I’m fine now though, no need to worry,” He plasters on his best I’m-fine-everything-in-my-life-is-a-ok smile.

Virgil nods but doesn’t seem convinced. He flaps his hands for a moment before realising what he’s doing and quickly stopping. “Are you sure?” His voice is even quieter,”You don’t seem like yourself,”

“I’m sure,” Patton replies brightly,”I promise,” He hates lying- he’s not, he is fine. _Don’t make a big deal out of nothing_ , he orders himself.

“Okay..” Virgil mumbles, picking up his pen to begin writing again.

Patton slips out his sketchbook and starts drawing something. The teacher isn’t paying attention and he’s written down everything anyway. He begins by attempting to sketch himself, shading in his jacket a darker colour than his shirt. He adds small tears to it, akin to the tears covering many of the clothes he owns.

Before he realises it it’s the end of the lesson and Virgil is giving him a little nudge. He quickly collects his belongings, lifting them into his arms before standing up and pushing his chair in.

Virgil follows suit, keeping his head down as they exit the classroom together.

“Guys, wait up!” Roman calls, practically jumping them, his hands slapping onto both Virgil and Patton’s shoulders.

Patton jolts, immediately reminded of the strangers and the feel of their hands on his shirt as they tried pathetically to give him some form of comfort. He gently shrugs Roman’s hand off, giving him an uneasy smile.

Roman quickly retracts his arms. “You okay there, Pat?” He asks gently, unfamiliar concern washing over his face.

Patton smiles and nods.

“Roman please stop doing that,” Virgil speaks up, his eyes on the floor. He’s back to the heightened anxious state Patton noticed earlier on at the beginning of Biology. He fiddles with his fingers.

“But I like jumping you two~” Roman whines, pouting at the two of them.

“Do it to Patton then, I don’t care,” Virgil snaps, turning to head away.

“Hey, wait-“ Roman begins, hand gripping at Virgil’s shoulder out of pure instinct.

Virgil yelps, tearing away from the offending arm. His eyes are unfocused and he begins to shake.

“Virge- Virgil, shit I’m sorry!” Roman exclaims, dropping his arm to his side, disgusted with himself. How could he have forgotten such a simple piece of information?

“ _Stop_ ,” Virgil whispers, voice barely audible.

Roman stops.

The two hover around Virgil, unsure how to help, making sure not to touch him or make the situation even worse.

The next few minutes pass in silence rest the sound of uneven breathing and fabric brushing against fabric as Virgil switches between flapping his hands and forcing himself to be still, a look of fear flickering across his face every time he fails to.

They’re going to be late for the next lesson, but that’s the last thing on Patton’s mind right now. His concern for Virgil overtakes everything else. “Virge..” He tries softly, stepping a little bit closer to his best friend.

“Mm?” Virgil manages. His shaking as stopped and he’s standing pretty still but he still looks as if he may spiral into panic at any moment.

“We have maths next so we can sit at the back and I’ll draw you,” Patton continues, a small smile forming on his face. “I’ll give you an MCR shirt,” he says.

“I have 4 MCR shirts at home,” Virgil replies, voice trembling a little,”They’re all black and white except one of them that has red on,”

Patton nods, smile growing wider. “I remember you telling me,” he says,”I can draw you wearing whichever one is your favourite,”

Virgil grins. “Don’t get caught though, you don’t want your sketchbook confiscated,” he warns.

Roman gasps in offence. “They take your sketchbook away for drawing? That’s your property!” He exclaims, incredulous.

Patton rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “They only took it once though,” he admits.

“Fuck them,” Virgil responds, seeming more like his usual self.

“You okay now Vee?” Patton questions, turning to Virgil.

Virgil nods, fiddling with his sleeves. “M’sorry about that..” He mumbles quietly.

“It’s okay, trust me. We don’t blame you,” Patton reassures him.

Virgil smiles gently and they head off to maths.

~

Patton isn’t doing so good. School is just so confusing and his new home feels more like a prison. His aunt and uncle are strict about rules. He has to be in bed at 9pm, he can’t bring food anywhere but the kitchen and the dining room, he isn’t allowed to meet up with people more than once a week and he’s strictly forbidden from calling or FaceTiming any of his friends. They yell at him for being ‘too loud’ and ‘too jumpy’ when he’s excited. They don’t listen to him and if he doesn’t like what food they make they scream at him and force him to eat it anyway.

Patton hates it but whenever he expresses his feelings he’s shut down immediately.

“You’re such an ungrateful brat.”

“Grow up Patton, you’re acting like a baby.”

“We do all of this for you and you don’t even thank us!”

“Everything is about you! Don’t you think that’s selfish!?”

So he apologises and he sucks it up and he hides behind his bedroom door and cries. He cries until his eyes are too blurry and red to focus on things. He cries until he’s almost sick.

He escapes up to his room as soon as he enters the house through their big double doors at the back. If he’s quiet enough, he’ll be able to remain undetected for at leat an hour. He closes his bedroom door behind him, ensuring to turn the handle as slowly as possible to stop any unnecessary noise. He drops his bag beside his desk and gets changed out of his uniform. He hates that stuff. It’s too smart looking and the material too thick and scratchy. He doesn’t really have a choice. The collar of his shirt feels as if it is trying to strangle him.

He takes out his phone and replies to a few texts, a bunch from Roman including blurry images of his brother Remus leaping off one of their couches. He smiles, remembering the times he stayed over at they house before the incident happened. He wishes he could return to that time. He’s so tired of putting up with his Aunt and Uncle’s bullshit.

_No Patton, you’re not,_ he scolds himself, _they’re the ones who have to put up with you._ He thinks about it, all the times he made life hard for them and feels guilty. They’ve been so nice to him really, allowing him to live with them, setting up the room, making food for him. How dare he hate them.

“Patton!” A loud shout echoes through the house.

He jumps, dropping his phone onto the carpet. “Yeah?” He calls back, leaning down to pick up his phone. It’s undamaged thankfully.

“Get down here!” The same voice orders. He can hear her footsteps stomping around downstairs.

He puts his phone on his desk and leaves his room, trying to ignore the fear threatening to control him. _Why are you afraid? They’re your family you idiot._ They really don’t act like it.

“I’m here,” He announces, stepping into the kitchen, hand on the wall.

Aunt turns to face him, a frustrated expression on her face. “Don’t give me that attitude, ungrateful child,” she snaps,”At least greet us when you get home. This is our house,”

Patton nods, looking away. “I will next time, I’m sorry,” he mumbles meekly, beginning to fiddle with his sleeves the way Virgil does.

“You better,” she snarls, tone icy,”We do so much for you,” she continues,”The least you can do is treat us with some respect,”

Patton’s head drops down further in disappointment. He can’t remember being disrespectful to them - he must have been though, why else would she say this? “I’m sorry..” He repeats, wincing as his voice cracks, tears stinging in his eyes. He can’t help but think _god, not again._

She lets out an irritated sigh. “Are you seriously going to cry over this? How old are you?” She snaps, turning away from him to continue making what seems to be dinner.

“I’m not crying,” Patton replies. He wipes at his eyes quickly. “I-uh, have homework… I’ll see you later,” he mumbles, spinning around as quickly as he can before speed walking towards the stairs, vision growing blurry with tears. He slips past the living room, avoiding his uncle watching something on the tv.

He slinks away back to his room as quietly as possible, not wanting any more attention drawn to himself. He really hates being shouted at. He hates being blamed for things he doesn’t understand.

At least he’s not lying though, he does have homework. He closes his door behind him and lets out a long sigh, sinking to the floor with a quiet groan.

He hates homework.

~

Patton Sanders is 14 and he's failing school. He puts the majority of his effort into art as it's his soul coping mechanism. He's long since given up trying to pay attention in most of his lessons, preferring to doodle on any scrap piece of paper he fishes out of his pockets.

One of his teachers calls him a disappointment. He shouldn't be affected by it, it's something he hears from his Aunt practically every day. There's just something about hearing it from a third party, a different opinion other than his own thoughts and the angry complaints of a relative he's grown to hate.

He finds himself blinking back tears in Chemistry, hating himself. He needs to do better but everything is just so hard.

He can't listen to most of his old playlists without crying, reminded of a life no longer belonging to him.

He begins to detest himself, taking every opportunity to call himself names inside his head. He feels stupid. Everyone else seems to be doing so well, excelling in the subjects causing him anguish. He doesn't understand and it makes him hate himself more.

He spends more time with Logan. They stay over at his every chance they get, curled up a little too close on his bed, a textbook in front of them.

Patton leans into Logan's side, a grin on his face. "Thank you for trying to help me study even though I'm pretty much a lost cause, Lo..." He says, an awkward laugh escaping his lips.

Logan frowns. "You're not a lost cause, Patton. The education system is faulty and wrong. That's not your fault," he replies.

Patton shrugs, "I dunno.." He mumbles, sighing,"I'm pretty stupid.."

"Again, no," Logan responds,"The system just favours certain types of people and if you aren't that type of person you suffer," he continues,"I do well because I work hard and it works for me, not because I'm smart,"

Patton looks away. "I work hard and I get nowhere, I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he sighs again, a dead laugh escaping him. "Oh well!" He exclaims, plastering on a faux smile,"Guess I'm gonna be a broke starving artist like my aunt says!"

Logan frowns. "Your aunt says that to you?" He questions, leaning closer to Patton.

Pat nods. "Yeah, she hates me," he replies.

"I thought you lived with your mum," Logan responds, confused.

Patton freezes.

He isn't in Logan's bedroom anymore, he's crouched on the bloodstained carpet of his old house, phone in his limp hand.

Red clouds his vision, blood staining everything. He feels like he might be sick.

"Patton?" Logan calls.

Is it Logan? He can't be sure.

“Patton,” He says again, shaking him.

Patton blinks. The red fades to the corners of his vision, barely noticeable. Logan is staring at him, concerned.

“Huh?” Patton mumbles, focusing on his friend’s face. He glances around the room, familiarising himself with his surroundings again. “Sorry, forgot what we were talking about,” He lies. He does so easily. Once upon a time it would be hard for him to lie, especially to people he cares about. He lies to his aunt every day about his grades, how much he’s studying, how he spends his time. He lies to his friends about how he feels - he hasn’t even told them about the incident yet.

Logan nods. “It’s alright,” he replies, concern still visible on his face. “Is everything okay, Patton?” He questions, shifting on the bed, pushing his books to the side to signify the conversation is serious.

“Mhm!” Patton exclaims, perhaps a little too loud, a little too happy. It sounds false, an overdone act barely held together at the seams.

Logan doesn’t believe him. “Patton, I have reason to believe you are lying. Virgil and Roman have expressed their concerns to me as well,” He continues, “We care about you, you can trust us,”

Patton doesn’t know what to say. What do people say in these situations anyway? He wants to tell Logan, spill his secrets into the air and hope for comfort. He hasn’t had that in such a long time. _Perhaps there’s a reason for that_ , his mind supplies. He wants to confide in Logan but that would be admitting he can’t deal with it on his own. It would be pathetic, weak, a bother. He doesn’t want to be a bother. He isn’t pathetic. He refuses to be.

“Thanks Lo, I really appreciate it but honestly, there’s nothing wrong,” He replies with a mouthful of lies.

Logan opens his mouth to say something but Patton cuts him off. “Weren’t we studying?” He questions, picking up his book once more.

Logan sighs but doesn’t protest. “We were,”

~

As Patton descends into a silent spiral of self hatred, he begins to notice similar signs in his best friend, Virgil. He was never overly nice to himself from the start, but something about the way he carries himself, disappears during lunch, often skips classes for no apparent reason, has Patton concerned. Sometimes he comes into school having visibly cried. Sometimes he doesn’t turn up at all. It’s evident to Patton that something is going on, he just doesn’t know what.

He keeps an extra eye on Virgil, watching the way he flinches whenever someone moves their arms in the vague direction of him, curling into himself when disciplined by teachers, staring blankly at his textbook practically every lesson.

It’s a usual Tuesday lunchtime, with Virgil absent and Logan trying to multitask eating and reading when Patton decides to voice his concerns with the small group.

“I’m worried about Virgil. He’s not at lunch again, I think something’s wrong,” He says, twisting his fork between his fingers absentmindedly.

“Hey yeah, you’re right!” Roman agrees,”I’ve been thinking the same thing,”

Logan looks up with a nod. “I propose we speak to him about it,” he suggests, closing his book and placing it beside his nearly empty plate.

The three agree.

When Virgil doesn’t turn up for maths after lunch break Patton finds himself worrying incessantly, unable to focus on the subject of sets and a curly E. He slips his phone out of his pocket and hides it behind a pile of books and his pencil case. He brings up the messages app and sends a quick text to Virgil.

**Postman Pat:** _Hi V we’re worried about you, you’re not in maths did you go home?_

He taps his fingers on the desk as he nervously waits for a response. He glances up every now and then, faking interest in the class. If he’s careful, no one should catch on that he’s using his phone.

He almost squeaks when a messages comes through.

**Vee:** _imok dont worrt_

Patton’s smile immediately drops. Sure, Virgil doesn’t always use capital letters in texts but he only has this many mistakes if he’s finding it physically difficult to type. Instantly, he knows something has to be wrong.

**Postman Pat:** _You don’t sound ok, you at school?_

He quickly replies, eyes darting up to make sure no one sees what he’s doing. He can’t be caught. If he’s caught and his phone is confiscated he won’t be able to make sure Virgil is alright.

**Vee:** _ye in thw bahrrom_

**Postman Pat:** _I’m coming_

When he doesn’t get a response he slips his phone back into his pocket and raises his hand.

The teacher sighs. “Yes, Patton?” They question.

“May I go to the bathroom?” He requests, trying to sound confident.

They frown, annoyance clear,”You’ve only just had break, but just this once if it’s an emergency,”

Patton breathes out a sigh of relief and jumps up as quickly as he can, so quickly in fact that he almost knocks his own books to the floor. He blushes awkwardly and leaves the room. He slips his phone out, checking for any response from Virgil as he walks.

There’s one.

**Vee:** _imsorry_

Patton’s frown deepens. He returns his phone to his pocket in one fluid motion and speeds up into a half jog, mind racing. What could’ve possibly happened between the lesson before lunch and now? A whole lot, is the answer. So much could have happened. He speeds into a jog, not caring about his subpar at best sports skills. Virgil is more important than any of that.

He reaches the small bathroom after what seems like an age of speed walking and worrying about his best friend. He pushes the main door open slowly, announcing his presence with a gentle “Virge, you in here?” To ensure he doesn’t cause further panic.

“Yeah..” Is the only response he received, a barely audible sound coming from the furthest stall on the right.

“It’s Patton, you wanna come out?” He asks, trying to keep his voice as calm and friendly as possible. He doesn’t want to frighten Virgil by acting too overprotective.

There’s a pause, a moment of dead silence where Patton stands beside the radiator, staring at the locked door a little bit in front of him.

Then.

A sniffle, shuffling, the sound of a door creaking back on old hinges.

Virgil shuffles out of the small enclosed area, looking a little worse for wear. His hair is messy, some parts stuck up in a way they weren’t before. The most noticeable thing is the grey streaks painting his cheeks, the ruined remnants of his black eyeshadow.

“Hey,” He croaks out, fiddling with his sleeves.

Patton wants to hug him but restrains himself. Virgil probably won’t want that right now. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, sitting down on top of the radiator, patting the space next to him if Virgil wants to join.

He does. He accompanies Patton atop the radiator, curling his legs into his chest and leaning back against the wall behind them.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, rest the sounds of Virgil sniffling and fabric on fabric as he rubs his sleeve swamped fingers together.

Then.

“I’m sorry..” Virgil whispers, barely speaking at all.

Patton frowns. “You don’t need to apologise, it’s okay,” he replies, “I promise you, you’re not a bother,”

Virgil’s tone turns cold. “I am,” he snaps,”I know I am,”

Patton sighs, looking away. “Who told you that? Whoever said that to you is a liar,” he responds, tone firm.

The reply is almost inaudible, Patton almost doesn’t catch it.

“My dad..” Virgil mumbles, glaring at the floor in front of him. He begins to shake. “I hate him,” he snarls, fisting his shirt in a trembling white-knuckled grip, “He needs to die,”

Patton freezes. He doesn’t know what to say. He knew something must’ve been going on with Virgil’s home life. He never invites them over, always looks so uncomfortable when others speak about their parents taking them on holiday and their perfect little families. Why didn’t he realise before? It was so obvious.

“Does he hurt you?” Patton asks, tone almost as quiet.

No response. Is that an answer? Should he take the silence as a yes? Patton glances at Virgil, studying his expression carefully.

Virgil doesn’t look at him - in fact he doesn’t seem to look at anything - when he nods slowly.

“Oh,” Patton murmurs and the two lapse into silence. Is that all you can say, really? He needs to say something, anything other than the simple two letters because it’s not okay, not okay that Virgil has to deal with that and he wants him to know that. “That’s abuse,” he manages finally, swallowing thickly.

“I know,” Virgil responds, eyes still on the floor,”It’s fine though, I get what I deserve,”

“Virgil, no one deserves that,” Patton answers quietly, his voice turning sad, “Especially not you- you’re a child. I am too - we all are. It’s not okay,” he stumbles over his words, thoughts going too quickly. He needs to ensure Virgil knows he cares.

“You’re missing class for this,” Virgil says eventually, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, only succeeding in further smearing his eyeshadow.

“So? You’re more important,” Patton says,”You ready to head back or..?” He questions, trailing off.

Virgil nods, sliding off of the radiator, moving to the sink. He washes his face and turns back around. He gives Patton a weak smile.

Patton returns it.

They’ll have a proper conversation later.

~

Patton doesn’t understand why his aunt hates him so much. It seems no matter how hard he tries she always finds something to get mad about. He isn’t working hard enough. He hasn’t done the chores perfectly. His room isn’t tidy enough. His sounds too happy. He sounds too grumpy. He sounds too emotionless. He doesn’t understand. He cannot understand. His grades are plummeting and she’s just angry, always angry.

“Patton!” She snaps, jolting him out of his daze.

He glances up to face his aunt from where he’s busy drying a plate with a dishcloth. “Yeah?” He manages, hating how pitiful he sounds.

“What the fuck is this?” She snaps, thrusting a printed out sheet of paper in his face. His school report.

_Oh. That._

“Uh-“ he begins, but is immediately cut off.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” She roars, tearing the paper in half and throwing it at his face.

He flinches. It lands in the soapy water, splashing suds onto his face. He reaches up and wipes them on his sleeve. Tears burn in his eyes but he blinks them back. He will not appear even weaker in front of her. He won’t.

“Don’t just stand there!” She yells, “Answer me!”

“They’re g-grades,” he stutters, eyes returning to the plate in front of him. He keeps drying it, focusing on the cloth brushing over the wet ceramic.

Thump. Her hand smacks against the tabletop. “Don’t take that tone with me, brat,” She snaps.

His hands won’t stop shaking. He just keeps drying the plate. It’s dry but he keeps at it, eyes unfocused. He continues the action, wipe, wipe, wipe, rinse and repeat, stuck in a perpetual loop of _drythatgoddamnplateyoubrat_.

She’s still yelling at him but whatever words she says are lost between his inner mantra of _wipewipewipewipe_ -

She smacks the tabletop again.

Patton drops the plate, hands shaking too much to keep holding it. He pauses for a moment, staring at the shards of broken ceramic scattered over the tiled floor beneath him.For a second all is silent, even his breathing, then- He drops down to the floor, stuttered apologies rushing out of him in tangled torrents. He rushes to pick up the shards, slicing his fingers as he does so. Blood drips onto the tiles. He gasps, clutching at his wounded finger, eyes wide.

“Look what you’ve gone and done, useless brat,” Aunt hisses, spinning away in anger, “Clean that shit up,”

He barely registers her leaving. Wrapping his finger in his sleeve he collects the remainder of the plate and disposes of the shards in the bin.

He fishes the soggy remnants of his report out of the now cold water and adds it to the bin before hurrying upstairs, still shaking. He slips into the bathroom to find a plaster for his finger. As he unravels the sleeve from his small wound he can’t help but stare at the blood, the red colour stark and bright against his pale skin.

And he feels silly for liking it.

~

Whenever he can he finds himself over at Logan’s house. Sure, his parents are a little strict with boundaries but it’s nothing compared to his aunt. Being at their house gives him a break from home and from the school atmosphere. He could probably keep it at that; they’re valid enough reasons. Only that isn’t why he does it. Logan is why he does it. He loves sitting together curled up on his bed, he loves the conversations the have, the way Logan gets this cute little focused expression whenever talking about something he’s passionate about. He loves his laugh, his voice, the way his glasses sit on his nose. He loves everything.

He’s known for a while but never really addressed it. He’s gay. He doesn’t like girls, he likes boys and he likes Logan.

He doesn’t feel bad, not really. He remembers his mum used to tell him about the lgbtq+ community when he was much younger. He remembers rainbow flags on the tv and the phrase “love is love”. Should he get a rainbow flag? He wants to.

He ends up ordering one and puts it on the uniform he wears to school. He’ll have to remember to not wear it around his aunt or Logan’s parents; they’re homophobic.

He takes it off his uniform almost instantly, regretting his quick burst of confidence. He hides it in the top drawer beside his bed. He’s scared. He doesn’t want someone to see the flag and find a way to tell his aunt so its safer if he keeps it a secret for now even though it hurts.

He’s no stranger to keeping secrets from people. He could say he’s the best at it.

~

It’s 1:28am and Patton can’t sleep. He’s sat half curled up in bed, sketchbook in his lap. He isn’t exactly sure what he’s drawing. It has eyes - a few too many of them of all different colours. Should he give it fur? He gives it fur, stifling a yawn with his hand.

When he’s finished the drawing he takes out his old phone, the one his aunt doesn’t know he has. She takes all his other gadgets at 9pm. He connects the headphones and presses play on his Spotify playlist. Bad Romance by lady Gaga begins playing and it’s almost as if no time has passed at all. He’s 5 again, listening to the song for the first time, overhearing his mum playing it on full blast in the kitchen. He’s 8 again, the song drowning out his parents’ screaming matches. He’s 10 again, sat on the floor in the living room, music video on the tv.

He feels so angry. With a yank he rips the headphones out of his ears, throwing them onto his duvet. His breath comes out in short pants, eyes full of tears. He hates it. He hates it so much. He hates that he misses his mum - she was a shell of a person by the time she offed herself. She died long before he was 13. Somehow, he manages to miss her anyway, the 6 year old inside of him longing for stronger pushes on the swings and high pitched laughter and a wide blue sky stretching out for eternity in front of his eyes.

What did he do wrong? He must have done something wrong, else none of this would’ve happened, right? It’s his fault, isn’t it? It’s all his fault.

He lets out a silent sob, gripping at his head with his hands, nails digging into his scalp until it hurts. He cries quietly, barely making any sound. He’s had the act of silent distress perfected from a young age. He doesn’t want to bother people. It’s not their business to fix his problems, so why should he force that upon them? It’s not fair on them, not fair on anyone.

After managing to calm down a little he picks up the phone and slides his headphones in. Bad Romance is no longer playing, instead it’s Rattlesnake by Fog Lake. This song is newer to him, not yet entangled between the years of his life like other songs. He puts his sketchbook away, turns off his torch and curls up under the covers.

_I’m still breathing_

_And someday I’ll cut all the heartstrings_

_Just to save myself_  
  


He falls asleep like that, curled into a ball under heavy blankets in the darkness.

~

“Patton, do you want to meet up together on the weekend, just the two of us?” Logan questions, looking up from his half written transactional writing.

Their English teacher has the class practicing for the upcoming internal exams, which in turn are practice for their actual GCSE’s.

Patton pauses, a small smile finding its way onto his face. “It depends, where are we going?” He questions, twisting his pen between his fingers, trying and failing to hide his excitement.

“Well, I was thinking we could visit a café or something, a date of some kind. Does that sound okay?” He suggests, blushing slightly.

Patton finds himself beaming. “A romantic date?” He asks, English work forgotten.

Logan nods slowly, eyes on the desk.

“I’d love to!” Patton squeaks, receiving a few stares from those around him for speaking too loud. “Sorry,” he apologises, blushing a tad himself.

Logan is smiling almost as wide as he is, an expression so foreign on his face that it causes a warm feeling to spread through Patton’s entire body.

“Does that mean.. you like me?” Patton questions finally, voice lowered.

“I’ve liked you for a while,” Logan replies honestly, looking up at Patton.

“I’ve liked you for a while, too,” Patton murmurs, laughing quietly under his breath, ensuring he keeps his inner excitement under control as to not distract the class.

The date goes better than Patton could’ve ever imagined. They get milkshakes - Patton’s loaded with sweets - and talk about random things. They kiss once before saying goodbye and heading back to their separate houses, only to text for hours under the guise of homework.

~

His aunt and uncle don’t celebrate Patton’s 15th birthday. He doesn’t mind, really he doesn’t. Virgil gets him a rainbow plush and he gets more art supplies and stuff from Logan and Roman.

They’re occupying their special section of the year centre, Logan and him holding hands on the couch with Virgil sat opposite them when Roman practically catapults himself beside them.

“Sup,” He announces, waving a packet of something in their faces.

“What is that?” Virgil demands, shoving Roman’s hand away.

“Condoms for the two lovebirds here,” Roman replies in a singsong voice, gesturing with the packet to Logan and Patton.

Logan goes bright red. “I’m asexual,” he says quietly.

Patton turns to him, knowing what the term means from his extensive late night research on the lgbtq+ community. “That’s okay, Lo,” he says, hoping it sounds genuine. He is genuine. If his partner does not want to do anything sexual then he is fine with that, like everyone should be.

Roman glances between the two of them in confusion. “What does that mean?” He asks.

“It means I have no interest in ever having sex with anyone,” Logan replies simply, “So we won’t need those,” he gestures to the packet in Roman’s hand.

Roman nods, “Understood,”

Logan returns to reading through his book, hand still attached to Patton’s.

Virgil looks up at the two of them. “Do your parents know about you guys?” He asks, curious.

Logan shakes his head, pausing where he is in his book. “No, they claim they ‘don’t agree with the homosexual agenda’ but they’re just homophobic, I assume transphobic too, considering the amount of time they spend listening to Fox News and Trump,”

Roman gasps in horror. “Your parents are Trump supporters?” He shrieks far too loudly.

Logan sighs, closing his book. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve tried to educate them multiple times but they refuse to listen. They think I’m straight,” he clarifies.

“Same with mine,” Patton adds in, leaving out the part where he’s speaking about his aunt and uncle, “Except they’re not Trump supporters,”

Roman lets out a breath of relief. “I was about to say! Two sets of Trump supports are way too many!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Nah, just one is way too many,” he interjects.

“True,” Roman replies, shuddering. “I feel bad for you guys, it must suck,” he adds.

Patton just shrugs.

“We only have 3 years until we’re legal adults anyway,” Logan explains, opening his book once more, signifying him exiting the conversation.

Patton nods, agreeing with him. He doesn’t say anything about his situation. He doesn’t voice his doubts. He isn’t sure if he’s going to make it to 18. Does he deserve to?

The answer is no, _no you don’t Patton_ , but he doesn’t voice that either.

~

Hiding their relationship from Logan’s parents is no simple task. Luckily for them, his house is large and spacious, meaning the amount of distance between the bedroom and living room is big enough that they shouldn’t be overheard.

Patton sits down next to Logan on his bed, letting out a tired sigh. “What do you usually do after school?” He asks, leaning over to look at Logan’s phone screen where he’s messaging Virgil.

“Study, most of the time,” Logan replies, looking up.

Patton looks away. “I wish I could be like you,”

Logan is a good student, he does his homework, studies for every test, even when they don’t have tests, always seems to have the correct answer when called on in class. Patton, well, he does none of that.

“Do you?” Logan asks quietly, turning his phone off and placing it to the side of him, on the bedcovers.

Patton shrugs. He knows he needs to shut up. He’s making everything about him again. Aunt says he always does that, she says he always acts like the victim and needs to stop. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, forcing back the tears threatening to arriveHe will not cry in front of Logan.

There’s a pause and then Logan whispers, “I think it does matter,”

Patton looks up, hands finding each other in his lap. “It doesn’t, honestly,” he says. His attempt at sounding upbeat falls short.

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Patton, what happened?” He asks.

“Hm?” Patton freezes, eyes wide. “W-what do you mean?” He stutters out, messing with his hands.

“Something happened. You’ve not been the same for a long time and I’m worried,” Logan states.

Patton doesn’t say anything. Yeah, something happened. His mum died, his aunt screams at him, he hates himself, being at home with those people makes him constantly on edge and he’s falling school, a disappointment. How does he word all of this? How can he say it in a way that’ll make Logan understand?

“My mum.. uh.. died.. two years ago..” He manages, swallowing thickly.

“Oh. Patton, why didn’t you say anything?” Logan asks, reaching forward to hold his hands.

Patton drops his head. “I’m sorry. It’s fine though - I’m not really affected-“

“Patton,” Logan interrupts, tone kind but stern.

“I don’t need help,” Patton says, very quietly, “I deserve everything she says to me,”

“Your aunt?” Logan questions, his hands still clutching Patton’s.

Pat nods, head still hung. “She- my mum… she offed herself. There was blood everywhere a- and..” He trails off, eyes welling up with tears.

“You kept this from us for two years?” Logan questions, incredulous.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whimpers, removing a hand from his boyfriend’s grasp to wipe at his eyes.

“I’m not angry with you, I’m just concerned,” Logan says, “I’m not the best at this but do you want a hug?”

Patton nods, practically launching himself into his partner’s arms. He clings to him. He doesn’t want to ever let go.

After what feels like an age but also not long enough, Patton pulls away from Logan’s embrace, wiping the remnants of tears from his face. “All good now,” he announces, tone false.

Logan just looks at him sadly for a moment. Then, “Patton, you can talk to me whenever, you don’t have to do it alone,”

Pat nods, gaze trained on his hands, having found their way into his lap again. “I know, Lo,” he replies because he does know, he knows he can talk to Logan. That was never the question. It was always: should he? Is it fair that Logan has to deal with all of his stupid problems. Is it fair to dump his shit on another person? No. No, it’s not fair. It’s pathetic really, that he even thought about doing it. He’s pathetic. Why did he tell Logan about his mum? _Now he’ll worry about you, you selfish git._ He is always being selfish.

For once he wishes he didn’t care about trying to be a good person.

~

Christmas rolls around faster than any of them could’ve expected. The school don’t do much to accommodate the celebration rest a few cheap paper ornaments and tinsel dotted about the year centre.

Patton thinks it’s pretty ironic. His aunt and uncle are passionate about the holiday, just the two of them, living together without him tossed into the mix.

“We’re going to be inviting some guests over, Patton,” Uncle informs him, looking away from the tv to speak to him - a rare occurrence; this must be important, then.

“Oh,” Is his only response.

“You will stay in your room the entire time and you will not make a single sound,” Aunt states, glaring at him.

“Okay,” Patton manages, looking away. He hates that glare. It never fails to make him feel pitiful and inferior.

He turns to leave with a sigh. Why did he expect anything else, really? Why would they want him around on Christmas Day, when he ruins practically every conversation they partake in? It’s so much easier for them to just ignore him, exile his presence from their lives as much as they can. Just like his mum did before she went and died.

Leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

Patton wonders idly if the same thing will happen to his aunt and uncle. They’re acting the same way his mum did, before she decided to leave him. It’s the logical conclusion isn’t it? _First they begin to hate you, then they ignore you and suddenly before you know it they’re dead._

He feels horrible for it, but he honestly wouldn’t care if they died. In fact, he longs for it to happen, longs for the people he can’t stand to just disappear out of his life completely.

8pm on Christmas Eve and Patton Sanders is not preparing stockings for the following morning. He’s sat on his bed, phone in hand, messaging on the group chat he, Logan, Roman and Virgil use to keep in contact over school breaks.

**Postman Pat:** _They’re playing xmas music downstairs without me :(_

**Vee:** _Fuck them_

**Princey:** _Nooo Remus looked over my shoulder he’s saying gross things_

**Vee:** _fuck what_

**Princey:** _It’s not very PG_

**Lolo:** _Stop blowing up my phone with notifications I’m trying to study._

**Postman Pat:** _It’s xmas eve!!??_

**Lolo:** _I know but we have mocks._

**Vee:** _see Logans smart hes studying couldn’t be me_

Patton rolls his eyes fondly. Trust Logan to be studying on Christmas Eve. Though it doesn’t feel like much of a holiday to him he still uses it as an excuse to do anything but work towards the mock exams awaiting him at the end of the remaining two weeks. The mocks are something they’re made to do every year, only these ones are pretty important, considering next year is their GCSE year.

He can’t help but feel guilty for not studying. He has so much time on his hands right now, why isn’t he using it? He sighs, lying down on top of his bed, phone forgotten beside him. Logan said being smart doesn’t matter, told him he’s not stupid, made him feel better about himself. But what if he’s wrong? What if Patton isn’t the person Logan thinks he is? What if-

He groans, rolling over to press his face into the duvet. He could sit here for hours thinking ‘what if’ - he’s done it before - but it won’t do anything. He closes his eyes, eyelids covering over the red. It’s always red, never any other colour. Blood red coats his vision. He curls up into a ball, just himself, his headphones and the colour. He presses play on his playlist again. It’s a mix of Fog Lake songs and his favourites from bands Virgil recommended to him: My Chemical Romance, Pierce the Veil, All time Low.. etc.

He misses him mum, his dad too, though memories of him are fuzzy and distorted. It’s strange; he can’t remember much of his younger childhood. It’s all made up of blurry images, sounds he can’t quite recognise and a few positive scenes recalled in HD. He often feels homesick for a place he never lived. It’s strange and he doesn’t understand.

His phone pings with notifications from the group chat but he pretends not to see them. He’s a bother, isn’t he?

He wishes he could disappear.

~

The exams are upon him before he has time to truly think about it. He focuses on the view out the window as he heads to school on the bus, the first day back after the Christmas holidays. It’s a dreary January morning, rain staining the sides of the road, running into the drains. Patton watches the tiny rivers as they pass them. If he squints his eyes the correct amount, everything turns into a perfect kind of blurry. Traffic lights send spikes of brightness into the air, pixilated streaks of glowing colour.

He rests his head against the cold window, his breath fogging up the glass. His hair makes scratchy little marks in the condensation, like spiderwebs pressed against such an impressionable surface. He moves his finger to wipe the marks away, drawing lines in the condensation. The sky is a dull grey colour, full of shadows and clouds. When he looks down at his hands, the grey reflects on his skin.

He almost forgets his bag on the bus in his haze to get off. He slings it over his shoulder and disappears into the familiar building. His hands still look so grey to him.

He doesn’t feel awake when he sits down in the exam room on the uncomfortable chairs, the paper lying in front of him. The room is a large hall of some kind, wooden flooring with thin carpet bunched up in the corners. He doesn’t like it. His feet don’t slide along the floor like they should, the carpet bubbling and torn in some places.

He looks to his right and catches Virgil’s eye. Vee looks worse than he feels, but he doesn’t comment on it.

He can’t focus on the exam. The questions don’t make sense. The words become unreadable, stupid marks of ink on a too white sheet of paper. He chews on his pen lid, feeling stupid.

God, his aunt is going to be so mad. She’ll take his phone for ages and he won’t be able to message his friends. He needs to do that, he has to. It’s the only thing keeping him okay, keeping him from doing something he’ll regret. Virgil understands how he feels more than anyone and Logan is constantly making him feel loved. Roman just sends him memes and quite honestly it helps him more than he wants to admit. Just thinking about going a day without his oblivious little support team causes fear to creep inside of him, curling around his lungs, constricting his breathing.

Aunt is so scary when she’s mad. He never knows what’ll set her off. Something wrong with his tone of voice? _Disrespectful brat._ Something wrong with the way he carries himself? _Annoying. Idiot._ Grades too low? _Stupid_. He drops something? _Fool_. Messes up, too slow on the uptake? _Waste of space. Disgusting. Selfish._

Patton Sanders is selfish.

~

He’s going for a walk, a small section of respite from his aunt’s fury, when he spots Virgil.

His best friend is standing a little ahead of him on the park bridge, white-knuckled fists gripping the railings. He’s staring directly downwards into the water. He hasn’t noticed Patton yet.

Pat pauses, unsure what to do. Vee doesn’t look like he wants to talk to anyone right now. He fiddles with his sleeves, gaze dropping to the floor. It’s a cold March morning and there’s not many people around. Should he just walk away?

Virgil sits down, slotting his legs between the too large gaps between the railings. They dangle over rushing water down below. He’s so close to the edge.

What if he slips? What if he falls? Patton worries. What if-

Virgil puts both legs between the same two railings.

Patton frowns. It doesn’t look safe. He begins walking towards Virgil.

Virgil scoots forward until he’s on the very edge of the bridge.

Patton’s eyes grow wide. “Virgil!” He calls, reaching forward. His fingers curl around the fabric of his purple hoodie.

“Pat?” Virgil asks, only just audible. He shuffles back from the edge, scuffing his shoes, dirt getting on his trousers. He yanks his hood out of Patton’s grip. “Why are you here?” He mumbles.

Patton helps Virgil to his feet. “Come on, we’re walking over there,” he says, leading Virgil away from the water. They sit down on a bench. “Virgil, were you going to jump?” He asks, finally letting go of his friend.

Virgil won’t look at him. He stares at the floor, eyes tracing the footsteps printed into the grass sprinkled mud.

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time.

“I’m so tired,” Vee finally whispers, so quiet that if it wasn’t for Patton’s ability to lip-read he wouldn’t know what was said. He blinks and there are tears caught in his lashes, light reflecting off the liquid like dew tangled within blades of grass.

Patton just looks at him, studying his friend's face, the bags under his eyes visible despite his eyeshadow, the way his messy hair looks unwashed, the exhausted slump to his shoulders.

"Virge, what's going on?" He asks, keeping his tone gentle.

Virgil's eyes drop to his hands. He fiddles with his fingers, sleeve riding up just enough to expose half of the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around his wrist.

"I want to die," he says, so simply. His voice doesn't waver, doesn't crack and no new tears spring to his eyes. "I can't do this anymore, Pat," he continues, grip tightening around his own wrists, clutching at his bruises until it causes pain.

Patton doesn't know what to say. Before he can attempt to speak Virgil begins talking again, sounding so tired, so completely done with everything. It scares him.

"He hits me. The first few times he did it I was angry, you know? Its abuse, or whatever..." He mumbles, hunching over, curling into himself as if to protect him from the outside world. "Then he just kept doing it whenever he was mad and honestly, I deserve it, don't I? He says I do- he's right, isn't he?"

Patton feels as if his heart is being torn in two. "No. Vee, you don't deserve that," he says, blinking back the tears forming in his own eyes. He feels so powerless, utterly useless in the face of the struggles and abuse his best friend is dealing with.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Patton, " Virgil snaps, the sudden anger in his voice catching Pat off guard.

"I- I'm not lying. Virgil, you don't deserve to be hit, no one does," Patton tells him. He pushes down the hurt he feels. Virgil doesn't mean it, he's just angry and upset. That's all it is. He doesn't really think Patton's lying, right? He wouldn't lie, not about this.

"I just want it to stop," Virgil whispers, drawing his legs into his chest. He rests his head on his knees, wiping the stray tears from cheeks.

"That's okay," Patton replies, leaning back on the bench and tilting head until he's facing the sky. "Sometimes I want to die too. I'm not trying to make this about me; it's not about me. I just - you're not alone, okay?" He continues, closing his eyes,"I'm here for you and I care about you,"

"Thank you," Virgil says very quietly.

"You deserve so much better from life than this.." Patton continues, biting his lip, tears filling his eyes,"I don't understand how someone as amazing as you has to deal with all of this," He covers his face with his arm.

Virgil doesn't say anything for a while. He moves his hand to touch Patton's not sure what else to do to comfort his crying friend.

"I think you're amazing too," He says finally, eyes still on his hands,"You deserve so much better than me, I'm sorry,"

"Don't be sorry," Patton answers,"I'm glad you're my friend... uh... We need to talk to someone about your dad. He can't be allowed to keep doing that to you,"

"I know," Virgil mumbles,"I don't how to talk to anyone,"

"I'll help you," Patton says, squeezing Vee's hand gently.

"Thank you," Virgil whispers. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

"You wanna go to get a coffee or something?" Patton asks, a small smile finding its way onto his face.

Virgil nods.

The both of them leave the bridge behind.

~

Virgil's father gets arrested and Vee is sent to a foster home. Turns out Virgil had a whole folder containing video evidence of the abuse, kept safe on a barely salvageable iPhone 4 with a crack through its middle.

The process is messy and stressful and Patton loses count of how many times he hears Virgil sobbing out "I want to die". 

Patton finds himself terrified that Virgil will kill himself just like his mother did. He wakes up in the middle of the night, a scream on his lips, dreams of walking in on Virgil's bleeding corpse haunting him.

He never voices the fears to his friend though, knowing it'll only make him feel guilty. He just tells him he cares about him, over and over again in the hopes that it'll do something- anything to deal with the self hatred Virgil feels.

Patton Sanders is selfish.

He finds himself lying in bed at night, curled around himself, hugging his touch starved body, craving for something he knows he doesn't deserve. And- he doesn't want to die. That's not it. He doesn't want to die but he doesn't want to live either.

Virgil is suffering so much more than he is. Virgil's literally suicidal and Patton isn't, he can't be if he doesn't want to die, right?

It's a little after noon on a Sunday when Patton receives the text about Virgil's suicide attempt.

**Princey:** _I'm in the hospital waiting room right now V tried to OD. Don't worry hes safe but I don't think they're allowing any other visitors atm_

**Postman Pat:** _Oh god_

**Postman Pat:** _Can you keep updating me with how he is?_

**Princey:** _I will when I know more, Logan is very mad that he can't be here too_

**Postman Pat:** _I'm so scared_

**Princey:** _hes OK pat. He's gonna get the help he needs and it'll get better._

**Postman Pat:** _:)_

Patton sobs into his pillow, feeling conflicted inside. He's so glad that Virgil's okay but he can't help the guilt that eats at him. He wasn't there. He wasn't good enough. Every pitiful thing he did and Virge still tried to kill himself.

Just like his mum.

_God._

He failed them both.

~

Patton Sanders is a selfish monster.

His aunt says he is, over and over again and despite what Logan tries to counter, he knows it’s the truth. Deep down he knows the truth. Anyone who tries to tell him differently is a liar and they just pity him. He hates pity. He doesn’t deserve it. He isn’t worth anyone else’s worry.

So he stops. He stops meeting up with his friends after school, giving them more time to enjoy themselves, away from his disgusting face. He no longer tries to pay attention in school. He doesn’t care. It all just seems so pointless. Why should any of this even matter? He’ll probably be dead before he turns 18. In fact, he’s counting on it.

He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to be alive. There’s no in between, it’s either one or the other. He can’t deal with either. Fear of the unknown, of everything that lies beyond the gate of death, has him avoiding it. That’s the only reason. He’s a coward. A selfish little coward and he hates it. He hates it and he hates himself. He can’t remember feeling this much anger, this much resentment towards anyone else. No, it’s only reserved for him.

He begins seeing red everyday. Behind his eyelids, dotted over the bathroom tiles, red in the lines he cuts into his own skin.

Perhaps he’s going too far, perhaps this will kill him, ruin him forever, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He doesn’t care. So what if he’s found dead in a ditch somewhere? At least he won’t be in people’s way anymore and he sees that as a win.   
  


“Patton? What’s that on your arm?” Logan whispers under his breath, head turning to the side to try and get a closer look at the lines peeking above Pat’s sleeve.

Patton freezes, eyes growing wide. “Hm? What do you mean, Lo?” He questions, moving to hurriedly tug his sleeve up and over his wrist. He fiddles with the fabric, rubbing it between his fingers, praying that Logan hasn’t seen what he thinks he has.

“Patton, you’re hurt,” Logan states, his voice still quiet, not wanting to alert the entire English class.

“Oh,” Patton mumbles dumbly. Maybe he can lie his way out of it. The thought of further lying to someone he cares about - the person he cares the most about - causes his eyes to sting with tears. He feels terrible. “The cat doesn’t really like me,” he finally manages, swallowing thickly, unable to look at Logan. He keeps his eyes ahead, staring into nothingness.

“But- Patton, you don’t have a cat,” Logan replies, the concern in his voice evident.

Patton chuckles falsely, slipping into his fake smile easily. “Oh yeah, I forgot, silly me,” he mumbles, turning away from Logan to continue writing in his book.

Logan remains frozen in his seat for a moment, the cogs visibly turning in his head before his eyes grow wide. “Patton,” he puffs out in shock.

Patton grips his pen tighter. He doesn’t respond. Anxiety bubbles inside of him, causing him to shake. Logan knows. Logan knows.

Logan’s arm shoots up. “Miss, I feel ill, can Patton take me to the nurse?” He asks, not even waiting for the teacher to notice his hand is up.

Miss pauses in front of the board, taking in Logan’s pale face and anxious expression. She nods. “Be careful on the stairs,” She warns, not unkindly.

Logan stands up, gathers his stuff shakily into his arms. His chair scrapes against the carpet when he drags it out.

Patton can barely believe it. Logan lied to a teacher to get out of a lesson. No, he lied to a teacher to get out of a lesson because he was worried about him. He leaves his stuff out on the desk and stands up, following Logan out of the classroom. He’s shaking so much and he can barely swallow. It gets stuck in his throat, his own spit trying to choke him.

He follows Logan into the bathroom, the same one Pat comforted Virgil in not that long ago. He automatically goes to the radiator and sits on top of it, his legs dangling downwards.

Logan remains standing, leaning against the wall directly across from him. “Patton,” he begins, pausing to think for a moment. “Can you please explain to me what those marks are,” He says, managing to keep his tone even and relatively calm.

“Uh…” he starts, trailing off. What if Logan hates him? God, he probably already does. “I.. I did them..” He mumbles, curling his legs into his chest with an almost inaudible,”I’m sorry,”

Logan looks over at him. He doesn’t look mad, doesn’t look like he’s preparing to scream at Patton. In fact he just looks sad. Sad and tired. “Can I look at them, to make sure you don’t need stitches or anything?” He asks gently.

Patton nods, moving to peel back his blood encrusted sleeves, clamping his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to watch Logan do it, can’t bare seeing the expressions that’ll grace his boyfriend’s features when he sees all that Patton has managed to do to himself. He’s ashamed, not ashamed for doing it per say - he needs it, needs it in a way he has never needed anything before - no, he’s ashamed to be caught. He’s ashamed that he is being seen like this. _How pitiful. How pathetic._

He hears quiet footsteps approaching him. Gentle hands clasp his own, flip his arms over slowly. A sharp intake of breath.

_Yeah. Okay._ He’s messed up. It’s not that he wasn’t aware of his stupid little fuck up when he did it. No, it’s that now someone else has seen it, someone else knows there’s something wrong, something going on beneath the surface. They’re not supposed to know. He hasn’t hidden it well enough. He’s failed. Tears burn in his eyes, leaking down his cheeks. _Failure._

“Please d-don’t hate me..” He stutters out, bowing his head as more tears come.

Logan sighs very quietly. “Patton, I don’t hate you. I didn’t hate Virgil when he was struggling and I don’t hate you now. It’s not your fault,”

Not his fault? _Oh Logan, you liar, you liar. You know it’s all my fault._

“How long have you been doing this?” Logan asks, letting go of Patton’s arms. They fall to his sides.

Patton covers up his wounds quickly, curling into himself, protecting the damage he caused. “A while..” He mumbles. The need to apologise surfaces inside him again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers,”I messed up,”

“I’m going to hug you now, okay?” Logan warns.

Patton nods slowly.

Logan does hug him. It feels strange. They’ve hugged so many times before but never like this. It was always warm and gentle and smiles and the suggestion of laugher. Patton feels cold, his limbs won’t cooperate, limp and listless. He feels like a doll, an inanimate object clasped by the frigid arms of the owner. He feels nothing.

Logan lets go, steps back. His eyes are red rimmed, tears hiding in the corners. “Please talk to me next time, okay? Don’t let it get this bad,” he says.

What can Patton say other than yes, yes he will, he’ll talk to him, he’ll try? Liar.

“Yeah, okay,” Patton mumbles.

Logan hugs him again, kisses his cheek. It feels the same. Surely, he can’t be alive.

“I trust you, Patton. Promise me you’ll get help,” Logan says, stepping away from the radiator.

Help? Patton Sanders doesn’t need help. He nods, slides off of the radiator.

He doesn’t deserve it.

~

When Patton turns 16, his aunt and uncle move house. They tear him away from the only school he knows and his only friends. They move hours and hours away, too far to be able to meet up after school, too far to do anything other than text or call.

In the moving process, they find his small pride flag. Aunt throws it out and he watches it disappear among the food packaging, slurs hurled against his ears.

They hate him more now.

At first, Logan and him text everyday, then it becomes every few days, once a week, a few times a month. Then, suddenly they both become strangers to each other.

**Lolo:** _Patton, I don’t think a long distance relationship is working for us. It’s not your fault and I wish you the best._

**Postman Pat:** _Ok I understand, you too :)_  
  


Patton throws his phone at the wall. It cracks, sliding down to the carpet. He breaks his promise to Logan but it doesn’t matter because they’re strangers now. Everything he once had is gone.

He wants to beg him to stay, cry and cry until he caves but-

It’s not fair.

Virgil is the only one who still keeps in contact. He tells Patton how he’s doing better now. He even manage to get a job, an online one. He sends Patton images of him smiling, Roman and a person he doesn’t recognise in the background.

_Patton is 17._

He relapses in the middle of the night and he’s covered in red.

Virgil is sending in Uni applications.

Patton supposes he should do the same. He applies for a nearby art school, ignoring the swears and the anger of his aunt. Her opinion doesn’t matter anyway. As soon as he finishes High school he’s leaving this place.

'Broke starving artist’ it is.

_Patton is 18._

He manages to pass his A levels by some stroke of luck.

His application to Art School is accepted.

Virgil tells him stories of his awesome therapist, how he wants to try out using he/they pronouns instead of just he/him. He’s dating Logan now.

All Patton can do is congratulate them. He feels a little bitter. It’s not fair. He misses them all, especially Logan, but the Logan he knew doesn’t exist anymore.

~

He heads out to his chosen uni as soon as he can, taking everything he can fit with him. He won’t be returning.

He loses himself in the art, in his paintings. His favourite mediums are acrylic paint, watercolour and alcohol markers. He spends most of his free time drawing, working on his projects for school and making a copious amount of vent pieces. He saves up for a digital drawing tablet and begins to practice with that as well.

He makes a Tik Tok account where he posts his art. People love it. He gets so many comments and new follows every time he posts. It makes him feel happy, gives him a little meaning. He enjoys making art and other people like it too! It’s great.

He begins to see more colours than just red again.

Without realising it, he’s doing better. He’s a few weeks clean, on top of the world. His Tik Tok has 5,000 followers and he loves every single one of them.

His roommate is someone called Janus. He is cool, obsessed with music and collages. He has a snake tattoo and heterochromia. He’s the coolest person Patton has ever met.

He also has a wild sleep schedule. They both form a sort of mutual respect, the friendship slowly progressing in the early hours of the morning. He convinces Patton to split dye his hair, half blue half white. It makes him feel cool too, a sensation foreign to him.

They hang out more, sat crosslegged on Patton’s bed.

“Your art is so cool, Patton,” Janus tells him, a wide grin on his face.

“Thanks!” Patton responds, working on a specific drawing of his on his drawing tablet. He’s busy giving the character of his twisting horns on top of their head when he feels the bed shift and creek.

Janus is suddenly behind him, looking over his shoulder, a gentle hand on his back. “Can I watch you?” He asks, a touch of humour in his voice.

“If you like,” Patton replies. It feels strange being this close to someone, feeling their breath on his neck.

He blushes. “I can’t focus now,” he manages out, turning to look at Janus.

They lock gazes, Patton’s blue eyes meet Janus’ brown and gold.

“That totally wasn’t my intention,” He responds languidly, his eyes on Patton’s lips.

Pat blushes further. He’s never been in a situation like this before but he knows he likes it; it causes excitement to rush through him, making him all wide-grinned and fidgety. He puts his drawing tablet to the side and turns to face Janus full on.

“Your hair looks fluffy, can I touch it?” Janus asks.

Patton blinks, surprised, then nods.

Janus lifts his hand up and strokes his fingers through the white side of Patton’s hair, the blue. “Oh, it seems I was right. Very fluffy,” he remarks, smirking.

Patton doesn’t know what to say. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is a cute little squeaking sound. He’s blushing a ton now, unable to stop himself.

Janus leans forward and kisses him on the lips quickly, moving away just as hurriedly before Patton has any time to process what just happened.

“Sorry,” Janus says,”Couldn’t help myself,”

“It’s okay, I liked it, I think..” Patton replies, grinning once more.

Janus is quick to grin in response. “Good,” he says, moving to kiss him again.

~

**Postman Pat:** _Hi vee guess what?? I have a boyfriend his names Janus but I call him Dee he goes to the same uni as me he’s so coollll!! :D_

**Vee:** _Wait really?_

**Vee:** _I’m happy for you pat :)_

**Postman Pat:** _How are you doing?_

**Vee:** _Im ok I guess uni is really hard_

**Postman Pat:** _Yeah it should be_

**Postman Pat:** _How’s Logan?_

**Vee:** _Eh idk hes been weird with me lately. He came out to his parents and they disowned him._

**Postman Pat:** _Oh no I’m so sorry._

**Vee:** _yeah i gtg talk to you later :)_

**Postman Pat:** _Bye_

He finds himself thinking about Logan way more than he should be. He thinks about Logan when he kisses Dee, thinks about him as he sits up late at night drawing characters for a comic he’s working on. He even thinks about him as he falls asleep at night, his boyfriend’s arms wrapped around him.

He ignores it, continues on with his life. He makes comic about characters of supernatural nature, each of them part of the lgbtq+ community. He creates two characters that are basically self-inserts of him and Dee. His character has the same curly split-dye hair as he does but instead of blue eyes silver eyes. The character wears pastel goth clothes just like he does and has spiky elf ears. Dee’s character carries around a guitar in sharp clawed hands, wearing black torn patch jeans and oversized hoodies. He has a forked tongue and a snake eye instead of a human eye coloured gold.

His Tik Tok gains followers. He’s now at 20k and truly he is on top of the world.

Sure, he has moments where he almost relapses, where he spends hours curled up in the bathtub in his clothes, shaking and hyperventilating. He’s doing better. For once, he thinks about his future, about becoming a proper artist, selling what he creates, living together with Dee.

_Patton Sanders is 19._  
He didn’t kill himself before he turned 18.

He doesn’t want to die anymore.

~

The next few years are the happiest of Patton's life. Dee and him get on so much. They do everything together.

Patton reaches 100k on his Tik Tok. The two of them move in together, both getting art related jobs. Pat sells art, does online commissions. Soon he has nearly 200k followers and he feels ecstatic. He begins to feel good about himself, genuinely pleased with what he can create.

Patton cracks his eyes open halfway, his lashes covering most of his vision. The room is washed in a warm sunny glow, spilling in through the gap in the curtains.

He rolls over, pressing his face into Janus' chest in the hopes of falling back asleep again.

Janus tightens his arms around him, sighing very quietly, his leg slung over Patton's.

Pat feels warm and floaty. He could never have imagined years ago that this would become his future. It feels like something forbidden, a cutesy little scene from a romance novel.

"I love you so much.." Patton mumbles, nuzzling into Janus' arm.

Janus murmurs something indecipherable, head dipping down a little to kiss Pat on the head.

He manages to fall back asleep like that.

~

**Vee:** _love you imorry_

**Postman Pat:** _What's wrong? Are you OK??_

**Vee:** _icant do this anymore_

**Postman Pat:** _Virgil, what do you mean?_

**Vee:** _want to die pls let me die_

**Postman Pat:** _I'm here for you. You can talk to me, OK? What's going on?_

**Vee:** _took pills_

**Postman Pat:** _Vee_

**Postman Pat:** _Is Logan with you??_

**Postman Pat:** _Virgil_

**Vee:** _he's in the kitchem_

**Postman Pat:** _Please go find him and tell him what happened_

**Vee:** _OK_

**Vee:** _im walkn_

**Postman Pat:** _You getting an ambulance?_

**Vee:** _yeimsorry_

**Postman Pat:** _It's OK, I just want you to be OK._

**Vee:** _imscared_

**Postman Pat:** _It's going to be ok_

"Who are you texting?" Janus asks, attempting to look over his shoulder.

Patton jumps, dropping his phone to his lap. It falls face first. "My friend Virgil," he answers, picking up his phone again.

Janus continues to look over his shoulder, brows furrowed. "You're sure he's just a friend?" He asks. The accusatory tone makes Pat feel strange inside. His boyfriend has never spoken to him like this before.

Patton nods. "Yeah, he's my friend from highschool," he responds, frowning,"Why do you ask?"

Janus' eyes are cold. "Don't tell me you're cheating," he snaps.

Patton's eyes grow very wide. He doesn't understand. How did Dee jump to that conclusion? "What?" He responds, switching his phone off and placing it to the side of him on the couch.

"How could you do that to me, Patton?" Janus continues, face contorting. He sounds so upset.

Tears form in Patton's eyes. He begins to breathe faster, panic building. "I'm not cheating on you, I would never do that, Dee. He's just a friend I've been messaging, honestly," he tries. His hands shake. He doesn't know why but he is suddenly reminded of his aunt.

"I'll believe you if you take your password off your phone. Then I can make sure you're not saying anything inappropriate," Janus replies.

Patton frowns more. "Can't you just take my word for it?" He asks, phone clutched in his hands.

Janus shakes his head. "Please baby, just for a while it would really help me," he pleads, tone switching up immediately.

Now how can Patton refuse? "Okay ." he mumbles. He takes off the password.

"Thank you, Pat," Dee says, smiling wide. God does Patton love that smile.

Patton should've seen this as the first red flag.

But he was naïve and blinded by love, the thing that blurs all red flags into something indistinguishable.

~

They're watching a movie on the couch, Dee curled up next to Patton atop the colourful cushions. Pat isn't having a good day. He's been feeling jumpy and off since he woke up and the sensation of touch makes his skin crawl. He doesn't know why but he has days like this ever so often. It's just a part of him.

"C'mere.." Dee murmurs, wrapping his arms around Patton's waist.

Usually it would feel nice but today it just feels suffocating. A short distressed whine escapes him. "No," he manages, yanking away.

"Come on Pat, that's no way to talk to your boyfriend, is it?" Dee responds, attempting to cling to him once more.

Patton gets up. He doesn't understand why he's like this. He knows he's upsetting Dee but he can't do anything about it. It just feels so wrong, does that really make him a bad person?

Dee sighs, eyes narrowing. "What the fuck is your problem?" He snaps, forcing himself into a standing position.

Patton instinctively steps back, beginning to shake. No, Patton, stop looking at him like he's your aunt. _He loves you, idiot._

"Are you even fucking listening to me?" Janus yells. The remote careens across the room, hitting the wall behind the tv.

Aunt stands in the doorway of the kitchen, taller and stronger than him. She's shouting at him but all he hears is white noise.

Patton sinks to the floor, his back against the couch. His hands curl in his hair, tighter and tighter until he's yanking at it. He can't breathe. He can't-

"Wow, way to be pathetic," Janus snaps.

He's.... pathetic?

"Stop it! Stop being weird!" Janus yells.

He's being weird..?

He tugs at his hair, the pain forcing him somewhere else. If he goes somewhere else then he doesn't have to deal with this situation.

"For fucks sake! Patton!" Someone kicks his leg.

He curls up tighter, hands knotted in his hair, trying desperately to calm his breathing down.

"I'm sick of you!" Someone yells. He blocks out the sounds of them stomping off.

He slides his head into the gap between his knees, clasping his eyes shut. Because if his eyes are closed he can't see anything and if he can't see it it can't be real.

Dee returns to him later in evening after Patton has managed to calm down and is drawing in their double bed.

Dee sits down next to Patton in silence.

"I'm sorry.." He mumbles finally, his voice cracking, tears leaking out of his eyes,"I didn't mean anything I said baby, I love you so much," he sobs.

Patton stares at him in shock, feeling guilty. "It's okay, Dee, I forgive you. I know you didn't mean it," he says with a smile. He's happy that his boyfriend isn't mad at him anymore.

"I'm such a horrible person," Dee continues, still crying,"I should just die,"

Patton freezes completely. "Dee.." He whispers, eyes growing wide,"Don't say that please, you're amazing,"

Dee doesn't reply.

"I promise you are," Patton says,"You're not a horrible person, you just made a mistake,"

Dee nods.

Patton feels so guilty for making Dee feel this way.

~

Patton finds himself feeling the urge to cut himself again. It starts as a passing thought as he cuts his sandwich into quarters in the kitchen, his eyes on the knife. The only way to eat sandwiches correctly is when they're cut into squares, so it's not like he can miss that step out. It feels wrong to touch the food otherwise.

He tries his best to push the urge down but it returns with full force merely an hour later. It lingers inside him. He pictures himself doing it. Surely it wouldn't be so bad to do it once, right?

_No. No, Patton. You can't._

He takes out his vent sketchbook and favourite chewed pencil before taking them into the living room. He slides his headphones on and listens to Fog Lake as he draws.

He draws himself. He's crouched on the floor in the drawing, eyes rolled up in his head, mouth open just slightly. He outlines it with fineliner then begins to add colour. Blue for the blue side of his hair and for his eyes and skirt. Pink and white for his stripy tights and grey for the cat hoodie he's wearing. He adds red to his arms, his legs, the floor until the drawing of him is covered in fake blood, crouched in a pool of it.

By the time he finishes his eyes are wet with tears. He closes his sketchbook and curls up into a ball on the couch. He begins to rock himself back and forward gently, needing something to comfort himself.

It'll all be okay. He just needs time.

~

"You always fucking whine about everything. You're so annoying!" Janus yells as he stands by the door, shoving his Demonias onto his feet.

"Where are you going?" Patton yells back. He's clutching at the hem of his skirt too tightly. He may rip it.

"Anywhere away from your disgusting ass, Patton!" Janus retorts, grabbing his wallet and his jacket. He looks prepared to go out, his hair styled right and his eyeliner striking. "You're such a baby. I'm so sick of dealing with you!" He snarls, thrusting open the door and closing it behind himself with a slam.

Patton jolts at the noise, making a sound of distress. Tears burn in his eyes and begin to fall down his face silently.

_This is all your fault,_ his mind supplies, _you selfish baby. Look at yourself, crying over a silly argument. Pathetic._

Before he realises what he's doing he's locked himself in the bathroom. He breaks open his razor and takes out the blade, going through the motions. He's sobbing quietly to himself, sniffling pathetically.

He hates himself. He can't do this. He's been clean for so long.

He crouches down beside the bathtub and takes the blade to his wrist. He slices. Not once, not twice, not even ten times, but more. He speeds up, trembling, crying out in pain as he bloodies his arm.

Red slicks down his wrist, dripping onto the carpet.

Its going to stain.

Fuck.

He stops, squeezing his eyes shut. The blade slips from between his fingers and drops onto the carpet.

He feels disgusting. He was clean for so long, years even and now it’s all thrown away.

Patton Sanders is selfish.

He’s not changed at all.

~

“What’s that on your arm, baby?” Dee questions, eyes on Patton’s wrist.

“Nothing!” Pat exclaims, yanking his sleeve down over his hand. He grabs at his fork tighter, trying to focus on eating dinner instead.

“Is that what I think it is?” Dee persists. He sounds angry.

“It’s nothing, I promise,” Patton lies, eyes dropping to his plate.

Janus jumps up, grabbing at Patton’s arm. “Show me,” he demands, pulling back his sleeve with force.

Patton flinches, forced to stand himself. He can’t look at Janus so he stares at the ground, feeling tears burn in his eyes. He’s such a failure.

Janus drops his arm. “I can’t believe you would do something like this,” he snaps,”Do you not love me, is that it?”

“What?” Patton gasps, forcing himself to look at his boyfriend. He’s stunned. How could Janus think this?

“Answer my fucking question,” Janus demands.

Patton tugs his sleeves over his hands, clutching them tightly in trembling fingers. “I’m just struggling right now, Dee. I think something’s wrong with me,” he replies quietly.

“Nothing’s wrong with you. You just want attention,” Janus snaps, shoving his chair in under the table. “Now look what you’ve done. I’m not hungry anymore because of you, thanks for wasting our food,”

Patton bites his lip. _Don’t cry, idiot._ “Dee, I’m serious. I need help,” he manages, tears leaking from his eyes.

_Pathetic._

Janus smacks him. “Grow up, not everything is about you,” he snarls, kicking the table leg before storming off in a huff.

Patton is frozen, hand suspended millimetres away from his stinging cheek. Tears blur his vision, falling down his face. He can’t move. His breath catches in his throat, air seeming to pass through his body, evading him.

Red invades everything.

Janus hit him.

Dee hit him.

His boyfriend hit him.

He sinks to the floor, beginning to sob, breath finally returning to him. It does so too quickly, his chest heaving as he begins to hyperventilate.

His aunt was horrid but she never hit him. 

_Does he deserve it?_

He fishes out his phone, nearly dropping it he’s shaking so much.

**Postman Pat:** _Virg_

**Postman Pat:** _Viegeul_

**Postman Pat:** _viegsl_

**Vee:** _Pat?_

**Vee:** _what’s wrong??_

**Postman Pat:** _Can’t breth_

**Postman Pat:** _Dee hit m_

**Vee:** _Shit_

**Vee:** _Are you okay? u bleeding_

**Postman Pat:** _not bleeding_

**Vee:** _ok that’s good_

**Vee:** _Leave him Patton you have to leave him_

**Postman Pat:** _Can’t_

**Vee:** _it’s abuse_

**Postman Pat:** _Can’t_

**Vee:** _you need to tell someone_

**Postman Pat:** _he only did it once_

**Vee:** he shouldn’t have done it at all.   
  


“Patton? Who are you texting?” Janus demands, suddenly back in the room. He seems calmer than before, but the cold anger in his eyes still remains.

Patton turns his phone off, shaking. “My f-friend,” he stutters out, a sob interrupting him,”Why d-did you hit me?”

“I thought I told you not to text them!” Janus yells, moving to grab at the phone.

Patton flinches violently, sinking further beneath the chair. “Stop,” he begs,”You’re scaring me,”

Janus pauses. “I’m sorry baby,” he mumbles, guilt overtaking his features,”Just hand me the phone okay? That’s all I’m asking. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

_You’ve already hurt me._

Patton hands him the phone, shaking.

“You can have this back in a few days when you’ve proven yourself, okay?” Janus states, sliding Pat’s phone into his pocket.

“Okay..” Patton mumbles, wiping the tears from his eyes. He doesn’t move from his position practically hidden under the table. “Why did you hit me?” Patton repeats, barely audible.

“Fuck,” Janus puffs out. He looks terribly guilty.

Patton draws his knees into his chest, hugging them close.

“I didn’t mean to, baby. Please believe me. I hate seeing you cry,” he begs, tears forming in his own eyes. “Please forgive me,”

“Promise you won’t do it again. Ever,” Patton mumbles. He feels empty.

“I promise, Pat,” Dee replies, bending down to give Patton a hug.

Pat doesn’t respond to it. It feels exactly the same as the one Logan gave him back in high school except this time he’s bruised and shaking.

He loves Dee.

He loves him.

“I forgive you,” Patton mumbles in an utterly monotone voice.

He loves him.   
  


~

Patton gets his phone back 4 days later. Janus hands it to him with a sugary sweet smile, the coldness of his eyes mostly hidden by the way the light reflects off of his different coloured irises.

“Thanks Dee,” Patton says, opening his phone.

Virgil’s contact is gone.

He frowns. “Dee?” He starts, glancing up at his boyfriend,”Where’s my friend’s contact?”

The coldness is back. “I told you not to message him. Now you can’t do it behind my back,” he replies bluntly,”It’s for the best, I promise you,”

Virgil has been Patton’s best friend since he was 11 years old. Luckily he has Virgil’s address written down somewhere so it’s not the end of the world.

“We’re just friends though..” Patton mumbles, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Patton you’re hurting me,” Dee replies, tone thick with sadness,”Why you you enjoy hurting me so much? Can’t you do one thing to help?”

“I’m sorry..” Patton mumbles, tears filling his eyes.

He’s selfish.

He’s so terribly selfish.

_You don’t deserve him._

“It’s okay baby just please... I hate it when you go behind my back and refuse to listen to me. It makes me want to kill myself,” Dee continues.

Patton’s eyes grow wide. “Stop!” He cries,”Don’t say that,” He knuckles at his tearful eyes pitifully, trying in vain to keep the feelings inside.

“It’s true,” Dee states,”You don’t listen to me you only whine about yourself. Do you even care?” He snaps.

“I do care!” Patton yells, clenching his fists,”I love you!”

“You deserve so much better than me,” Dee sobs, caving into himself,”I should just kill myself, right? That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He yells.

“No! It’s not! Please!” Patton sobs out, trying to grab Janus’ arm.

He storms out of the house before Pat can stop him.

He returns hours later, drunk as hell. He threatens to kill himself and hits Patton again before passing out in the living room.

The next day he doesn’t even remember it happening.

It happens again the next week.

Then again the week after.

But he never means it. He’s always so sorry and upset and Patton can’t leave him. What if something bad were to happen?

He loves him too much.

~

“Dee, I need help,” Patton whispers. It’s 11pm at night and they’re both curled up in bed watching videos on their phones.

Dee pauses his video and turns to look at his boyfriend.

Patton’s head is resting on his shoulder, the white side of his hair tickling his chin. He looks terrible and sleep deprived.

“What do you mean?” Dee questions, frowning.

Patton sits up, fiddling with his sleeves. “I messed up,” he mumbles, finger moving to rub at his wrist,”Please don’t be mad at me,”

“What’ve you done?” Dee asks, frustration filtering into his voice.

“Think I need stitches..” Pat murmurs, gesturing to his arm.

“Oh for fucks sake, Patton,” Janus sighs,”I thought you’d stopped that shit already,”

“I can’t,” Patton chokes out,”I can’t stop,”

“Why?” Janus demands, sitting up himself, eyes returning to the same cold glare. “Do I have to take your phone again?”

Patton shakes his head vigorously, tears escaping his eyes. He wipes them away furiously. “Please don’t,” he begs.

“Then stop,” Janus snaps.

“I can’t!” Patton cries, burying his face in his hoodie sleeve. He’s shaking so much.

Janus rolls his eyes. “God. What is your problem?” He snarls,”It’s not hard!”

Patton just cries.

It’s not hard you idiot. Just fucking stop. You’re so pathetic. Dee hates you. Everyone hates you. You’d be better off dead.

And suddenly he’s back in this state again. He’s back to cutting every day, feeling suicidal and hating himself.

Dee loves him.

It’s not Dee’s fault.

It’s his own fault.

It’s always his fault.

~

“I’m going out drinking with some friends, baby,” Janus announces, giving Pat a kiss on the cheek as he slings his jacket over his shoulders. “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

Patton nods, blushing at the sensation of being kissed. “Mhm, see you later, Dee,” he says.

Janus disappears out the front door and Patton let’s out a sigh of relief. He has the place to himself for a few hours.

God, does he hate himself. It feels strange. He’s a 24 year old adult and yet he still feels the way he did as a teenager. What’s wrong with him? Is he depressed or something? He doesn’t know.

_He wants to die._

He sits on the couch and takes out his phone, mindlessly scrolling through Tik Tok to take his mind off of his thoughts for a while. He needs this. He needs some way to detach himself from his brain or he’ll do something he’ll regret.

_There’s pills in the cupboard in the bathroom. A whole bottle of those will definitely kill him._

_Shut up. Shut up._

He lets out a quiet whine. “You’re fine,” he whispers to himself,” Just breathe, you’re gonna be okay,” He slides his headphones on and begins playing his music. Talk by Fog Lake. Novocaine by Fog Lake. Father reaches by Fog Lake.  
  


_There's farther reaches in my head_

_But they don't ever let me rest_

_Clutching knifes against my chest_

_Cause you won't love me till I'm dead_

_There's farther reaches in your head_

_But you can't have them till you're dead_

_So waste your days till you forget_

_What's it's like to have a friend_

He lies on his side, music blasting in his ears, the sad tune calming and comforting. He scrolls through his social media accounts. He’s not doing so bad in that respect. He has his own business selling his art and people like it.

_Dee, I need help._

He misses his mum. He misses Logan. He misses Virgil.

Without realising it, two hours have past.

He sits up, dries his eyes and checks his messages.

There’s a video from Dee, sent merely 11 minutes ago. He clicks on it.

It’s loud. Dee and a friend of his are hugging each other, the camera shaking and jerking with their drunken laughter.

Did he even mean to send this?

Dee kisses the stranger.

Patton throws his phone across the room. It cracks against the wall but he doesn’t care.

Does a kiss count as cheating? They’re drunk. What if they’ve been doing this for months? What if they’re doing more than kissing?

Dee doesn’t love him. He hates him. He hates him.

Patton claws at his arms, eyes filling with tears. He can’t take it anymore.

He can’t take it.

Suddenly he’s back in the bathroom, blade in hand. He cuts. He cuts his wrists and his arms and his thighs and his ankles and his stomach and he’s covered in blood and he’s sobbing and he can’t breathe and his thoughts are louder than the music blasting into his ears.

He can’t. He can’t do it anymore.

He can’t.

He picks up the bottle of pills in trembling hands and unscrews the lid.

He can’t.

He downs a handful of pills. Then he downs another just to be sure.

He’s crying so hard he can barely think. He crawls into the bathtub. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, going out the same way his mum did.

He leans back against the wall of the bathtub, eyes half lidded, the bottle of pills sat in his hand. His sleeves are rained with red. It’s dripping into the shiny surface beneath him. Blood dots the carpet around the bath, his blades visible for the world to see.

He feels so tired.

_Time to go home, Pat._

_You be a good boy and go colour in the living room, okay?_

His eyes fill with more tears. Still, he barely makes a sound. His face slides across the room, taking in everything in a blurry haze.

_You’re a decent person, Patton._

The room looks so grey.

He tilts his head back. His headphones are knocked slightly askew.

He doesn’t care.

_We care about you, you can trust us._

Patton was never strong.  
He was never a brave person.  
He doesn’t even think he’s a nice person.

There’s no reason for him to stay.

_I’ve liked you for a while._

He feels so tired and the bath is cold against his bare skin.

_I don’t need help_.

He closes his eyes humming along quietly to the music, the taste of salt on his lips.

_Sometimes I want to die too._

Suicide is never the answer.

It doesn’t feel like he’s dying.

Patton falls asleep and the bottle drops from his hand. It hits the bottom of the tub with a quiet thud.

_I’ll help you._

He can’t feel the cold anymore.

_I’m going to hug you now, okay?_

Patton Sanders is not selfish.

_I love you so much._

Patton saw the world in colours.

Both beautiful and utterly terrible.

Rattlesnake by Fog Lake continues to play in his headphones, even though there’s no one to hear it.

_I'll make you see it_

_All the ways you snuck into my head_

_Tearing holes in my sense til the good part of me died_

_And the trembling stopped_

_From your rattlesnake bite_

_And it all went dark_

**Author's Note:**

> Fog Lake have amazing music though. I gotta say it.


End file.
